The Quest
by ChocolatteKitty-Kat
Summary: Knights of the Round Table, a King Arthur fanfiction, Part 4. Begins roughly 7 years after the film takes place. Gawain and Galahad go to hunt down Morgana on Avalon, while Arthur handles unwelcome visitors in Albion. Sequel to Meeting, Reunion, and Many Returns.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here we go, guys! Part four! This title is definitely subject to change, as I'm not really set on it... but we'll see. I'm not going to promise that this is the last part for the main body of fics (as I do have an ending fic planned), because I said that with Many Returns and it clearly ended up not being true. This fic will, naturally, center on Gawain and Cymbeline, but I'm planning to bring out several other characters, new and old, as well. I'm trying to do some different things here, and I hope you guys like them!**

 **Also, the verse at the beginning of this chapter is from J.R.R. Tolkien's** ** _The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun_** **, which is an incredibly beautiful poem that was recently put back into print, along with some of his other works. I definitely recommend checking it out! The poem actually inspired quite a bit of this fic (as did some of Tolkien's other works, not gonna lie)! You'll probably see several other verses of the poem sprinkled throughout the fic, as well as some verses from a few songs and other poems, so keep your eyes peeled!**

 **Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this part once: I do not own King Arthur, or the characters of Gawain, Galahad, Arthur, Guinevere, Ganis, Bors, Vanora, Gilly, or I guess technically Ban, Helaine, and their children, or Bors and Vanora's other children, but I do own the other characters, this story itself, and the ideas and writing expressed herein, unless otherwise stated. I am not making money off of this story.** ** _The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun_** **belongs to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

 _In Britain's land beyond the seas_

 _the wind blows ever through the trees;_

 _in Britain's land beyond the waves_

 _are stony shores and stony caves._

(J.R.R. Tolkein, _The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun_ , lines 1-4)

Bright sunshine streamed through the green leaves, casting green shadows on the bare skin of the riders. There were three of them: a tall, brawny man with shoulder-length bronze curls twisted into a stubby braid, riding a big black warhorse; a shorter, stocky man with short-cropped dark hair, missing his right hand and steering his dappled grey gelding effortlessly with his knees; and a slender, athletic-looking woman with a chestnut braid hanging to her waist, riding a bay mare whose color almost matched the hue of her hair. The bigger man wore a short-sleeved scale-mail jerkin and soft leather trousers, while the other two were dressed in boiled leather chest-pieces over sleeveless linen tunics and light cotton leggings. The woman led the trio, her brown eyes constantly watching the trees around them, while the other two hung back slightly, equally vigilant.

As they looped around along a series of earthen trails and side roads, heading back to the fort they had originated from, they saw another horse, trudging slowly along the road, its rider wearing a heavy dark cloak despite the summer heat. The woman at the head of the trio lifted her hand, waving the others off, and the men slowed their mounts, hanging back as she spurred the bay mare on to catch up to the lone rider. Closer inspection revealed that he was riding a mule, not a horse, as she slowed her horse down to match the man's pace.

"Hello, friend," the stranger smiled up at her. He was younger than she'd expected, based on his stooped posture, and had a thin, long face—the woman thought that it matched the mule's rather oddly—with shaggy orangey-red hair and a well-trimmed beard that narrowed to a point on his chin.

"Hello," the woman smiled back, the epitome of friendliness. "What brings you to this part of Albion, stranger?"

"I'm looking for King Arthur," the man replied. As he spoke more, the faint Welsh accent in his voice became more prominent. "I must meet with him."

"King Arthur?" the woman cocked her head, her heavy braid slipping over her shoulder. "Why're you looking for him?"

"I had a vision," the man replied. "It told me to seek him out and tell him what I know."

"And what is it that you know?" the woman asked.

"I know the location of the one he's hunting," the man grinned, his eyes sparkling.

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The remainder of the knights were seated around the round table when Cymbeline, Aggravaine, and Dagonet returned. In regards to population, the table was full again, as it hadn't been for nearly thirty years—longer, really; when Arthur's knights had first come to Britain, there had been twenty-seven of them, in addition to Arthur and the commander of the Roman legion, leaving one empty seat. At the moment, all but three seats were filled, and the young knights-in-training stood against the walls of the chamber, dutifully still and quiet—well, as still as it was possible for them to be, considering how many of them were teenaged boys.

Cymbeline entered first and went straight to Arthur, offering only a brief nod to Ban, who was speaking. She bent down to whisper in the king's ear so as not to interrupt the old knight's speech, but many of the eyes in the room were on her. Arthur nodded when she finished speaking, and she stepped back respectfully to wait out Ban's speech.

"Oh, enough girl," Ban interrupted himself, glaring at the Woad knight, who blushed red. "Everyone is certainly more interesting in what you have to say than in the result of the most recent foray into the North in search of Morgana."

"Actually, that's what I've got," Cymbeline said. "Well, not your results, but information on Morgana."

Immediately, everyone around the table perked up. Over the past two years and some months, Arthur and his knights had been attempting to track down the Woad sorceress Morgana after she and her allies had attacked Camelot, demanding Arthur's abdication. Nimue, Morgana's partner, had died in the attack, but Morgana herself had escaped, and the knights' search for her had been tireless—at least for the first few months, while she had still occasionally been seen at times in the north. But, over a year previous, the sightings had stopped, and Morgana had disappeared.

"What information?" Bors demanded, leaning forward in his seat. "Who brought it?"

"A Welshman," Cymbeline replied. "He won't tell anyone but Arthur"—

"Because that's not suspicious at all," Galahad rolled his eyes. "It doesn't lend much faith to this Welshman's claims."

"There's something about him, though," Cymbeline said. "He seems trustworthy. Admittedly, I have no cause to think him so, but…"

"It's the first lead we've had in over a year," Bedivere spoke up. After the death of his younger brother at the hands of Nimue's followers, the healer had been quiet and almost timid, rarely speaking up during table meetings.

"We can at least hear him out," Elyan, one of the newest knights at the table, spoke up. "There's no harm in that."

"Elyan is right," Arthur nodded. "We shall hear what this Welshman has to say, and then decide if we will act on it. Bring him in."

Cymbeline crossed back to the heavy doors of the table room and swung them open with a heave. They drifted to a stop over a foot away from the stone walls, and three men entered. In the center was a red-haired, red-bearded man, slight of form and wiry under his heavy cloak. To the left stood Dagonet, Bors's eldest British son—Elyan being his oldest son, but from his first marriage, in Sarmatia—while Aggravaine, Cymbeline's oldest brother-in-law, stood to the right. They followed the cloaked man into the chamber, then headed for their seats at the table, as Cymbeline had done.

"My lord," the stranger offered Arthur a deep, sweeping bow. "My name is Menw. I am a seer from Wales."

"A seer?" Bors the Elder, the oldest occupant of the table at seventy-five, scoffed. "A fraud, more like. And you thought to give his claims credulity?" the last was directed in the vague direction of Cymbeline; the old man had lost his sight rapidly over the past few years, and his eyes were clouded with cataracts.

"Just because you can't see, old man, doesn't mean others can't either," Cymbeline retorted, although she seemed perturbed by the stranger's claim.

"He didn't mention that he was a seer earlier," Dagonet said in his mentor's defense.

"If I had, would you have brought me?" Menw cocked an eyebrow. "I said what I knew would pique your curiosity enough to bring me to Arthur, but not so much that you would deem me mad or a fool and leave me on the road."

"Enough," Arthur sighed. "What is the information that you say you have for us, seer?"

"I have had a vision of Morgana," Menw turned his attention back to Arthur. "I believe that it was sent to me for a purpose, although I'm not sure what that purpose is, or who it was that sent me the vision." He paused and looked around the table, then at the young knights-in-training against the wall. "In my vision, I saw Morgana, sitting on a silver chair in a chamber made from the boughs and trunks of living trees. At her feet was a pool of clear crystal, flowing with bubbling water. As I watched, her form turned to that of a withered old hag, her silver throne turned to one of stone, the pool dried to dust, and the living trees turned to dead husks. In the blink of an eye, I looked down, as if from a great height, on a massive forest, shrouded in mist. The height grew even greater, and I saw that the forest was in the center of a small island, covered by clouds."

"That seems… vague," Galahad said after a slight pause.

"That could be any number of islands," Pellinore, the last of the old knights, scoffed, throwing up his hands.

"It could be anywhere in the world," Gorlois, the brother-in-law of one of Ban's sons-in-law, agreed.

"Avalon," Dinadan, a British bard, was the first to speak the name.

"Avalon?" Kei, a Celtic warrior from Eire, scoffed. "You're joking."

"What is Avalon?" Gaheris, Aggravaine's younger brother, asked, his brow furrowed.

"Avalon," Bedivere explained, "is an island"—

"A _mythical_ island," Kei interrupted.

"A _potentially_ mythical island," Bedivere continued, "somewhere in the channel between Gaul and Britain. Most people seem to think it exists, but no-one can seem to agree where exactly it is…"

"According to the legends," Dinadan said, "Avalon is constantly shrouded in mist, which makes it difficult to find."

"The legends also say that the island _moves_ ," Kei scoffed. "You know, of course it would be the _bard_ that thinks that Avalon—the _mythical_ island—is a viable option for this."

"Wait, what do you mean 'the _bard_ '?" Dinadan sat up, leaned forward, and glared at Kei across the table.

"Not to mention," Kei continued, "we're listening to an insane person tell us about some vision he claims to have had, and you want us to follow it? And expect to find Morgana at the end of it? Anyone who thinks that idea would pan out has got to be as this man clearly is!" He ended his speech with a wild gesture towards Menw.

"I'd just like to go back to Kei's insinuations about _my_ sanity," Dinadan glared across the table.

Arthur leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose; beside him, Guinevere sank down in her seat and sighed deeply. Around the table, several of the other knights got involved in the argument as well. Voices began to rise as the argument escalated, and Arthur raised his head again to look around at his knights. Across the table, he made eye contact with Gawain, one of the few people at the table who had managed not to get involved in the conversation. Arthur held out his hand towards the knight—who had always been one of the most level-headed people at the table—and Gawain sighed. With a sigh and a screech of wood against stone, Gawain pushed his chair back and stood up.

"I think we should listen to Menw."

Silence immediately fell as all of the eyes in the room turned to Gawain. He sighed again and shifted his weight slightly. "We've been looking for Morgana for over two years. We've followed leads with just as little foundation as this during that time, and we've even led parties north without any leads, just to see if we could find any. Maybe this man"—he gestured vaguely at Menw—"is insane. Maybe he really did have a vision. Maybe he didn't. The only way to find out is to go to Avalon and find out for ourselves."

As Kei opened his mouth to retort, Cymbeline's smallest knife went flying across the room to bury itself in the table in front of him.

"Cymbeline, don't do that again," Arthur sighed, glaring at the Woad. "Kei, that's enough." He reflected for a moment on how much these table meetings tended to feel like dealing with children. "I agree with Gawain"—Cymbeline brandished another knife as Kei opened his mouth, but didn't throw it—"this is worth taking a look at."

"Why is it worth taking a look at!?" Kei exploded, leaping to his feet and sending his chair skittering backwards. "A madman is claiming that he saw a vision of where Morgana is—which is an island that may or may not even exist, depending on who you believe—and we're just going to try and find this island."

"Technically, we don't know that he's crazy," Cymbeline piped up.

"That's true," Menw interjected. "And I'd personally like to advocate for my own sanity."

"Lots of people have visions," Bedivere supplied. "And I can think of at least seven herbs that can cause them."

"That's…not particularly helpful," Menw frowned.

"I've met several Roman priests who at least claimed to have visions," Cymbeline said. "Although, they also claimed to be able to cure me of my muteness."

"You weren't actually mute," Galahad pointed out.

"Yeah, but shouldn't they have been able to tell that?" Cymbeline asked.

"Enough!" Arthur ordered. "I think we should see if Menw's… vision… has any substance to it."

"You must be joking!" Kei was on his feet, his face red. "This is insane! It's completely unfounded to send a mission in response to the vision of a stranger! He could be working for Morgana—he could be leading us into a trap! We don't know anything about him."

"That's true," Arthur nodded. He glanced slowly around the table, at the faces of his knights; he saw expressions ranging from disbelief to thoughtfulness, polite disinterest to rage. "I would ask a small group of you to accompany Menw to Avalon, to ascertain the truth of his… visions. If you are able to find her, and it is reasonable to do so, you may attack her with the intent to either kill her or return her to Camelot to stand trial for her crimes."

"You want to put a Woad witch on trial?" Bedivere arched an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

"Witches hold no power greater than God's," Arthur replied. "I do not fear her, and neither should any of you. It is most likely that she is simply a very clever woman who uses her intelligence to trick others into believing that she has magical abilities."

The Woads around the table traded slightly incredulous glances, but didn't contradict their king. They had learned long ago not to question Arthur's faith in his God.

"Who do you propose to send on this mission?" Bors was on his feet now, adjusting his belt.

"Not you," Arthur said. He looked carefully around the table, although he already had a solid idea of who he wanted to send. His gaze lingered first on Gawain, then on Cymbeline, whose eyes were already narrowed at him. "Gawain," he met eyes with the younger knight. "I would have you lead this mission."

Gawain nodded slowly, studiously avoiding the furious gaze of his wife next to him. "As you wish."

"Kei, Dinadan," Arthur glanced between the two. "Both of you are going as well." Ignoring the protests of the two knights, he continued to look around the table.

"I'll go," Bedivere said, standing. "A healer would be good to have along in a strange place."

"Me too," Galahad rose to his feet, clearly reluctant. "You could use someone with a bit of sense on this mission… quest… thing."

"And that would be you?" Gawain grinned.

"Shut up," Galahad grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Thank you, Galahad," Arthur smiled.

"I want to go too," Lancelot, Bors's third son, shot to his feet. Arthur heard Bors groan and caught a glimpse of the knight lowering his head into his hands as he considered Lancelot's eager offer. Lancelot was the youngest at the table, but not the newest to take a seat there. He had gone on short missions to the south before, but had never been long from home; however, he was already seventeen, and Arthur knew that many of the Sarmatian knights had been out on missions well before that age.

"Alright," Arthur agreed finally, ignoring another loud groan from Bors. "But you will do whatever Gawain tells you, without question."

Lancelot nodded eagerly, trying to hide the broad smile that threatened to split his face as he sat down.

"That's enough," Arthur held up his hand to prevent any more volunteers. "I think six knights and a Welsh… seer should be enough. We don't want Morgana to know that you're coming, after all; too many of you will give your presence away. Thank you, to all of you. You will leave in a week; some of us will ride with you as far as the coast, as well."

After ensuring that there was nothing more that warranted discussion at the moment, Arthur dismissed the knights, waiting with Guinevere until most of them had trickled out, then approached Menw, who still stood near the door, looking confused.

"I'm not really sure what just happened," Menw laughed awkwardly.

"I'm sure you won't mind accompanying the knights," Guinevere smiled as she looped her arm around his and turned him towards the door. "After all, you're the one who brought the information; it seems obvious that you would want to see the result of it."

"Oh, absolutely," Menw nodded. "I knew all along that I would be going along; I saw that in my vision."

"Oh?" Guinevere asked politely as she continued lead Menw through the villa.

Arthur followed along, paying little attention to the conversation taking place a few steps ahead of him. He hoped that he hadn't made a mistake in ordering this mission—for many reasons. If this was a mistake, he would lose two of his closest friends, along with four other good knights, as well as the trust of his other knights and even subjects. But if they were able to find Morgana, who had eluded them for so long and still seemed to plague them from afar… it just might be worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The song Dinadan sings in this chapter is "Hawthorn Tree" by Heather Dale. You can find a version with a lyric video here: !youtu!.be!/7KihSuUpE5E (take out the !). The song is actually about Merlin's demise at the hands of Vivienne-who is also known as Nimue, but keep the lyrics I used in mind, as they're going to be relevant to this story later on (as will some of the gist of the story of Merlin and Vivienne/Nimue).**

 **Also, I'm not sure if anyone even noticed, but I changed the title of this story within like an hour of posting the first chapter. I still might change it a little to encompass both halves of the story, but we'll see.**

 **Disclaimer: The story disclaimer can be found in Chapter 1. I do not own the song "Hawthorn Tree" or it's lyrics; those belong to Heather Dale.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The mood under the open pavilion that served as the tavern during the warmer months of the year was considerably darker than usual. Vanora had been met first with a practically bounding Lancelot, who had informed her that he was going on his first long mission with the other knights before whirling off with one of his youngest siblings. Yannick and Corentin, the newest knights-in-training under Cymbeline and Kei, had been just behind him and had filled her in on a few of the details of what sounded like an incredibly strange table meeting.

It wasn't until Bors had come in and pulled her aside that she got the rest of the details. As many of the other knights began to fill several of the tavern's tables for the evening, Vanora and her working girls started to get busy, but the redhead kept an eye on the arrivals throughout the evening. Kei was the first that she noted; he looked so angry that it was impossible not to. Vanora sent Katell his way; she had the best rapport with the Celt and was generally the best at calming his fiery temper.

Dinadan was next, appearing, for all intents and purposes, as chipper and bright as normal. However, as soon as he arrived, he settled onto his favorite stool and began tuning his woodharp, trying to charm Olwyn into singing with him. Vanora sent the girl to join him when she asked permission; it was her first night back after giving birth to her second son six and a half weeks previous, and there was no sense in exhausting her immediately. She settled onto a stool beside Dinadan, the new baby in a sling across her chest, and the two were soon chatting about what songs they should sing.

Cymbeline was next, heading straight for the enclosed room of the tavern that housed the knights' children during the days, and served as the tavern in colder months. She brushed of Vanora's questions when she passed, and vanished through the door.

Gawain and Galahad came next, walking side by side, neither of them looking particularly happy. Gawain offered a noncommittal grunt in response to Vanora's greeting.

"Have you seen Cymbeline?" he asked.

"She went into the tavern," Vanora nodded over her shoulder. "Your mother's keeping an eye on the littlest ones in there with Helaine."

"Thank you," Gawain immediately made for the door to the room.

"Dindrane?" Galahad sighed, glancing around the pavilion.

"She's around somewhere," Vanora patted him on the arm. "Might be in the kitchen, actually."

"I'll check, thank you," Galahad turned to head for the kitchen, then paused and looked back at Vanora. "Would it be alright if I borrowed her for a few minutes?"

Vanora smiled and nodded, and Galahad was off.

Branwyr and Bedivere were the last to arrive, walking slowly and hand-in-hand both looked serious, and separated reluctantly when they reached the pavilion, Bedivere heading for the other knights while Bran went towards her mother.

"Are you alright?" Vanora asked softly, reaching out to pull her oldest child into a hug. "Your father told me what happened."

"I'm fine," Bran sniffled slightly. "I kind of wish I was going along, though. I'd feel better if I was there to watch his back, and Lancelot's."

"They'll be alright," Vanora said. "If I understand your father right, there's no guarantee Morgana will even be on this island anyways. They could go and not find anything, or anyone, and be back perfectly fine in a few weeks."

Bran smiled wanly. "When was that ever our luck, mother?"

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Vanora would have been grateful for the quiet night in the tavern, if it hadn't been accompanied by such a dark mood. Most of the patrons had settled for listening to Dinadan play his harp and Olwyn sing for much of the evening before wandering off to their homes. The few people who were left were primarily the knights she and her family were closest to: Gawain and Cymbeline with their children, Culhwch and Olwyn with their sons, Bedivere, and Galahad. Morgause, Dindrane, and Evaine were finishing the clean-up from the night, while Elyan and Vanora's oldest three children helped with sleeping babies that hadn't been taken home to bed yet.

Dinadan slowly plucked out a final tune on his woodharp, singing softly. Vanora wasn't paying enough attention to note any of the words past the refrain he repeated:

 _Hawthorn tree,_

 _Your body burns away the winter's cold._

 _Stand by me,_

 _And shade me from the sun._

 _My eyes are old, but still can see._

As Dinadan finished the song, his voice trailing off into silence, Cymbeline stood abruptly, adjusting the sleeping toddler she was holding in her arms. Gawain stood as well, bending down to take one of his sons from Galahad, then silently followed his wife out of the tavern. Culhwch and Olwyn left after them, each carrying one of their sons. Bedivere kissed Branwyr on the cheek and brushed a hand over little Jennie's forehead before waking Lucan up to take him home.

As the other knights trickled out, taking their respective children with them, Vanora breathed out a deep sigh. She took one of her youngest babies—she half-heartedly cursed her husband for getting her pregnant with, somehow, their fourteenth and fifteenth children—from Elyan when the girl woke up and started crying, shooing the older children and their little burdens off to bed in the part of the tavern that had once been an inn but now served as a home for her and Bors's massive family.

Her eyes lingered on Lancelot as he carried five-year-old Llamrei off to bed, and a pang of worry rose in her heart.

"He'll be fine," Bors materialized at her elbow, carrying the other baby. "Tristan went north in a smaller party when he was much younger than Lance is now, and he was fine."

"Tristan and Lancelot are very different boys," Vanora huffed. "Lancelot most definitely does not think things through like his brother does, nor is he as cautious or thoughtful as Tristan."

"So, essentially, he's as much like his namesake as Tris and Dag are," Bors chuckled deeply.

Vanora couldn't help but laugh as well, and the baby in her arms cooed in protest at the motion.

"Maybe this mission will be good for him," Bors suggested as they made their way around the side of the tavern for the door that led to their apartment, the original set of rooms they had tried to cram their huge family into before giving up and moving into the inn—and knocking a hole into the upstairs wall where the two sections joined. "Maybe it'll teach him how to think things through."

Vanora scoffed. "You've been a knight for over twenty years now and you still haven't learned to think things through."

"I think things through," Bors protested. "Just not always until I've already started doing them."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Cymbeline settled Rhience into bed and turned to find that Gawain had already done the same with the less-fussy Lot and Bella. Without a word, she spun on her heel and went out into the main room of the apartment. She and Gawain had moved out of both the small set of rooms above the infirmary and the barracks—where they had bounced between for several months—before the children's second birthday. Now, they lived in a little three-room apartment two streets over from the tavern. Admittedly, the third room, which they had taken as their bedroom, was hardly big enough to be called a room, but the apartment was generally referred to as cozy rather than cramped. This might have been some wishful thinking on their part, but the only time things really seemed cramped was when all three toddlers crawled into the couple's already small bed in the middle of the night, often leading to at least one parent waking up on the floor in the morning.

When Gawain left the children's room, he found Cymbeline gone and the door to the apartment open. A glance outside found her on the landing of the rickety set of wooden stairs that led up to the apartment, her forearms resting on the splinter-ridden railing. He took a moment to look at her; she'd let down her hair at some point and it now blew in the night's gentle breeze, the long chestnut curls tangling around one another. Her loose linen tunic fluttered in the breeze as well, now that her leather chest piece had been removed, and he thought he saw her shiver slightly in the chill of the night.

With a sigh, he joined her on the landing, copying her posture on the railing. The breeze smelled like rain and was colder than he had expected, and he felt a chill go down his own spine, even though his clothes were heavier than Cymbeline's.

"You know I have to go," he said finally, his voice soft.

"You have to?" she repeated bitterly.

"Arthur has been my commander since I was ten years old. He's been my king as well for nearly a decade. I can't just ignore his orders. Would you?"

There was silence for a long moment.

"I don't know," she admitted at last.

Silence fell again as they watched the wind ripple through the tops of the distant trees of the forest. In the other direction, they could see the vague outlines of guards patrolling the great Wall, while the streets below them remained empty of everything except the odd stray dog or cat.

"It just feels like… you're so eager to leave us," Cymbeline said with a sigh, turning so that her lower back was leaned against the railing and she could see into the apartment.

"I'm not eager to leave," Gawain turned to look up at her, truly shocked at her words. "It's the last thing I want to do. I missed so much of them—I wasn't here for their birth, or the first half year of their lives. I couldn't be here for you, or for them, and it breaks my heart every time I think of it. If there were anything I could do to change that, I would—but there isn't. Every time I leave, they've changed so much when I come back. I feel like I'm still missing half of their lives, and yours."

Cymbeline hastily wiped away a hot tear that spilled down her cheek. "I do too," she murmured. "And every time you go away, I'm so afraid that this is the time you won't come back, and I don't know how I'd live if you didn't." She sniffed loudly, hardly able to hold her tears back any longer. "They need their father," she murmured finally. "And I need you."

Gawain swallowed the lump that had formed in his own throat and reached out to pull her into a tight hug, cradling the back of her head with one hand while the other pulled her as close as possible. He felt her shake as she began to cry quietly, her face pressed against his chest, and buried his face in her thick hair. They stood like that for long minutes as the rain began to fall softly around them. As the cold droplets began to roll down exposed skin, Cymbeline pulled away, sniffling one last time and wiping away her tears.

"I'll come back," Gawain lifted her chin with a finger, staring deep into her eyes. "I promise."

"You'd better," Cymbeline nodded.

With a smile, he moved his hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. "I will."

Cymbeline sighed shakily, but smiled and lifted a hand to catch his and pull it away from her cheek. "Come on. I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed."

Gawain laughed and let her pull him inside, shutting the door behind them. In their room, she shucked her leggings, kicking them away like they had offended her, and awkwardly unfastened her breastband, tossing it after the leggings, as Gawain pulled off his shirt. They settled down to sleep, Cymbeline's back pressed against her husband's chest. It didn't take long before they both began to drift off, their breathing slowing to a pace that almost matched each other.

"You'd better come back," Cymbeline mumbled drowsily, long after Gawain thought she'd drifted off. "If you don't, I'm going to track you down and kill you myself."

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Don't worry. I'll come back." _One way or another, I'll come back._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter three! I can't wait until the actual plotlines actually get going! xD We'll be there soon, I promise!**

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Two days after Menw's arrival in Camelot, a rider in Roman armor approached the fort. He was met outside the gate by Gareth, Lucan, and Gilly as they returned from patrol.

"Hello there!" Gareth called out, riding ahead of the younger boys. Lucan gripped his bow more tightly, reaching for an arrow from the quiver hung by his knee. "What can I do for you, friend?" the young Sarmatian seemed overly friendly, but the younger boys could see his hand hovering by the knife sheathed to his left thigh.

"I need no assistance from you, boy," the Roman sat tall on his horse and looked down his nose at the copper-haired boy with his abundant freckles and scraggly beard.

Gareth maintained his friendly smile. "Of course not. I just thought I would offer it to you. Many new arrivals to this island seem to think that everything looks the same. A lot of people get lost."

"I'm no mere traveler," the Roman scoffed. "I am a Roman legionnaire, bearing an important message for Artorius Castus, in Camelot."

"Wow," Gareth arched his eyebrows and nodded. "You're really not just any traveler. I apologize for offending you, truly."

The Roman sniffed and returned his gaze forward, but Gareth kept pace beside him.

"Anyways," the young knight said, "it seems like it is a good thing you ran into us after all. My name is Gareth; I'm one of Arthur's knights. The boys back there are knights-in-training as well. We can take you to see the king."

The Roman's head whipped around so fast the boys were surprised that his neck didn't snap. He eyed up Gareth, disbelief clear on his face; when he glanced back at scruffy little Gilly and wiry Lucan, he nearly burst out laughing. "You're Arthur's great knights?" he scoffed. "I heard they'd killed all of you or sent you back to the holes you crawled out of in Asia."

Gareth smiled again. "Well, it appears that you've heard wrong. Now, if you'll be so kind as to follow me; we can't have a Roman legionnaire just wandering around the forests of Albion. Camelot isn't far ahead, and I'm sure Arthur will be positively thrilled to see you."

To emphasize the end of the conversation, Gareth spurred his horse to pull ahead of the Roman's, and Gilly and Lucan dutifully closed in from the rear. They rode the rest of the way to Camelot in this formation. Once inside the fort, they went straight to the villa, forgoing the stables, where they found Arthur, Gawain, and Galahad making plans for the upcoming journey to Avalon.

"Arthur!" Gareth called, dismounting as soon as his horse had come to a stop. "This is a Roman legionnaire that we met on the road. He said he has a message for you."

The legionnaire dismounted and knelt in front of Arthur. "Lucius Artorius Castus, I am Suedius Sellic. I have come on behalf of Bishop Germanius, bearing a message for you from him."

Arthur suppressed a groan, and Galahad's face grew dark. "What does the bishop say?" Arthur sighed.

"He bade me personally inform you of his imminent arrival in Camelot," the legionnaire remained on the ground, head bowed. "He and a negotiator from Rome have come to discuss terms with you."

"What kind of terms?" Galahad spat.

"I know only what Bishop Germanius told me to say to Artorius Castus," the legionnaire finally looked up, glancing from face to face. "The convoy will be here within the week."

"Within the week?" Gawain repeated, startled.

"That doesn't give us much time to prepare," Arthur frowned.

"You were not made aware of this before, my lord?" the legionnaire rose to his feet, looking confused. "I was given to understand that a messenger was sent ahead of the bishop and his convoy."

"We received no message," Arthur bit out.

"My deepest apologies, my lord," Suedius Sellic bowed again.

"It wasn't your fault," Arthur sighed. "None of this is. Will you ride back to the convoy, or meet them here?"

"Bishop Germanius ordered me to remain in Camelot until his arrival," Suedius Sellic replied.

"We will find a room for you in the barracks," Arthur nodded. "For now, Gilly and Lucan will show you to the stables."

"Thank you, my lord," Suedius Sellic bowed a third time, then paused.

"You may go," Arthur said quickly when he realized the man was waiting for him.

"Yes, my lord," Suedius Sellic turned and took up the reins of his horse, following along behind Gilly and Lucan towards the stables.

"Romans? Coming here?" Galahad scowled. "That can't be good."

"Are you sure you want us to go to Avalon?" Gawain asked. "You may need all the help you can get here."

"Yes, you will continue with your mission," Arthur sighed. "Finding Morgana is more important than dealing with these Romans, whatever they want."

"We could delay, though," Galahad suggested. "At least until they arrive."

"No," Arthur shook his head. "We can't afford for Morgana to move—if she even is on Avalon. All of the past information we had on her was old by the time we reached the place it said she was. She's been moving around a lot the past two years. I don't want to lose her again."

"This whole thing could just be a wild goose chase," Gawain reminded him gently. "Menw could be lying, or crazy, or worse—acting on Morgana's orders to lead us into a trap."

"I know," Arthur sighed. "I wish that I wasn't sending you under such vague hopes, or in the circumstance it seems you'll be leaving the fort, but Morgana must be found. She's spent the last two years plaguing us from afar, and I won't have that any longer. She cost the lives of Griflet and others beyond count; I won't let her take any more." He looked between Gawain and Galahad, his face a mix of emotions. "And I hope beyond hope that she will not claim yours as well."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The word of the Romans' arrival spread like wildfire through the fort. By the next morning, everyone from Jols's stable hands to Vanora's tavern girls to the knights themselves was buzzing with the news, and reactions were mixed. The table meeting that day was even louder than usual, with half of the knights shouting their opinions over the voices of the other half, and everyone seemed to leave with a foul mood and a headache.

The next several days were a flurry of preparations, both for the impending arrival of the Roman party and for the departure of Gawain and his small band. Finally, the day that the knights were to leave came.

"Let's go," Gawain hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head and began strapping on his armor. "I'm going to be late."

"We're ready," Cymbeline retorted, slipping on her boiled leather chest piece. All three of the children were dressed simply in long linen tunics—the clothes were technically too big for them, and had been handed down from Vanora's children—and short breeches underneath, and Bella's long curls had been tied into two stubby pigtails. Cymbeline was currently in the process of braiding Lot's hair as well, her own locks loose to fall over her arms and face. "He needs a haircut. So do you." She cast a critical eye over Gawain's ragged curls, which were longer than he usually kept them. Once she finished with Lot, she dragged a stool over to Gawain and pulled his hair out from under his chest piece so that she could plait it into a simple, heavy braid.

"So do you," Gawain retorted, slipping metal-studded leather bracers onto his wrists and pulling the laces tight.

"True," Cymbeline said, tying the braid with a short piece of red yarn. "Are you done?"

"Yes," Gawain grabbed his pack from the floor near the door and swung it over his shoulder. The rest of his things had been loaded into saddlebags and left in the stables with his horse and saddle the night before, and his weapons were either in his pack, on his saddle, or already attached to his person. He scooped up Rhience, who giggled, and opened the door with his free hand as Cymbeline picked up Bella and took Lot by the hand, heading out into the early morning light.

They stopped off at the tavern and slipped inside, where they found most of Vanora's children, Bors, and Morgause. The triplets were deposited with seven-year-old Sallem and ten-year-old Yannick, and Gawain stopped to kiss each of the children on the head before turning to his mother. "I'll be home soon," he promised, reaching out to pull her into a tight hug.

Morgause returned the hug and smiled softly when the separated. "You had better be. I lost you once, I don't want to do so again."

Gawain smiled and kissed her on the cheek, then turned to head out of the tavern with Cymbeline and Bors. They weren't the last to reach the stables, fortunately; Dinadan rushed through the doors a few moments after them, earning a raised eyebrow from Arthur.

Cymbeline went to Bedivere and hugged him tightly. "Watch your back," she smiled up at her cousin.

"I will," the healer grinned broadly. "And I'll watch theirs while I'm at it," he nodded towards Gawain and Galahad, who were saddling their horses.

"Focus on your own first," Cymbeline reprimanded. "You can't help others if you're not paying attention to yourself."

Bedivere nodded and hugged her again briefly before turning to his own horse. Cymbeline made a circuit around the stable, bidding Kei and Dinadan farewell as well before coming to a stop in front of Galahad.

"Stay safe," she grinned up at the dark-haired knight. Galahad and Bedivere had been the closest thing she'd had to brothers after she returned to Britain, although Gawain's brothers and step-brothers had swelled that count over the past few years. However, the sullen knight who had ridden with Gawain to Rome many years earlier kept a special place in her heart, and remained one of her closest friends.

"I can't exactly promise that, but I'll certainly try," Galahad grumbled, pulling her close in a one-armed hug. "Keep an eye on Dindrane for me. Don't let her fall for anyone else while I'm gone."

"I won't," Cymbeline laughed.

"Of course, I'm still not entirely sure she's actually fallen for me in the first place…" Galahad grumbled, turning back to his work.

"I'll see you soon," Cymbeline brushed a hand against his arm, then moved on.

She led her bay mare out of its stall and began saddling it, sneaking glances at Gawain and Gringolet beside her. Arthur came over to speak to Gawain after making his own circuit of the stable, his own horse already saddled. He, Bors, Cymbeline, Aggravaine, Culhwch, Dagonet, and Branwyr would ride out with Gawain's party until midday, then turn back towards the fort. By the time the king had finished speaking to Gawain, Cymbeline's horse was saddled and she slipped around it to stand beside her husband as Arthur moved to the center of the stable.

"Knights!" he called, looking around the stable. Half of its occupants suppressed groans at the promise of another of Arthur's speeches, but, before he could continue, Aglovale burst through the door, gasping for breath.

"The Romans are close," he said. "The night patrol saw their camp only a few hours' ride from here. They'll have covered a third of the distance by now, if they started at daybreak."

Arthur frowned. His gaze turned to Gawain, a silent question passing between them.

"Go," Gawain said.

Arthur nodded. "Bors, Cymbeline, Aggravaine, Culhwch, Dagonet, Branwyr. We'll ride out to meet them."

Without another word, the king mounted his horse, the knights following behind him. Cymbeline cast a glance over her shoulder at Gawain, standing beside Gringolet, and then was out in the bright morning sunshine.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Dinadan's song at the end of this chapter is another Tolkien poem, which appears in several forms throughout** ** _The Hobbit_** **and the Lord of the Rings books. This particular section comes from** ** _The Fellowship of the Ring_** **, and is sung by Bilbo when he leaves Bag-End and the Shire. A really great version set to music is by Clamavi De Profundis on Youtube, which sets all of the parts and versions of the poem to music:** **!youtu!.be!/9B6dsfGazyI (take out the !).**

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. "The Road Goes Ever On And On" belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and the Tolkien estate, not to me.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The knights met the Roman party at the top of the broad hill where Arthur and his knights had met the last Roman party to come to Britain seven years earlier. The similarity was not lost on Arthur. His knights fanned out behind him, Bors and Cymbeline on his sides, Dagonet and Branwyr behind them, and Culhwch and Aggravaine at the rear. They drew up into a line on the hill and waited as the carts and riders of the convoy came to a stop. The curtains on the side of the larger cart, at the front of the caravan, fluttered open in the wind and a familiar figure stepped down.

Arthur plastered a smile to his face and dismounted. "Bishop Germanius," he bit out. "Welcome to Britain. We had not thought to see you here again, much less so soon after your last visit."

"Yes, well," the bishop waved his hand dismissively, eyeing the six knights who stayed mounted behind Arthur. "It seems that you have found more knights to fight for you."

"Yes," Arthur stood stiffly in front of the aged bishop. "But these were volunteers, not conscripts."

"Ah," the bishop nodded sagely. "Well, if it is all the same to you, we would greatly like to continue on to your fort. It has been a long journey."

"Before we do so," Arthur said quickly as the bishop turned back to reenter his cart, "I would ask a question."

"What is it?" the bishop sighed, half-turning towards the younger man.

"What has brought you back to Britain?" Arthur asked.

"There will be enough time for that after some rest," Germanius waved his hand again, continuing his ascent into the cart. "Tomorrow morning will be early enough, I think."

Arthur arched an eyebrow, but didn't press the issue. He caught a glimpse of at least two others in the cart before the curtain fluttered shut, but couldn't tell who they were. As he started to head back for his horse, a call behind him caused him to turn. When he saw the source of the shout, his face broke out into a smile—a genuine one this time. "Alecto!" he smiled up at the boy—not that Alecto was much of a boy any longer. He was into his twenties by now, and had filled out since Arthur had last seen him. His shoulders were broader, his form stockier, but his black hair and clever eyes were the same.

"It is good to see you again, Arthur," Alecto smiled down at him.

"And you," Arthur agreed. "Why have you come to Britain?"

"Bishop Germanius thought that it might be wise to have some others with experience of the island with him," Alecto explained. "He selected myself and two other men who once lived here."

"Who are they?" Arthur asked.

"Caelus Nasennius Constans and his son, Justinius," Alecto replied.

For some reason, the names pricked at the back at Arthur's mind, although he could not place them. "I'm sure we'll be introduced soon enough," he said after a moment's thought. "For now, we'll continue to the fort. Why don't you come and ride with me? Tell me of Rome."

Alecto smiled. "I would be honored."

"Come," Arthur smiled, heading back to his horse and his knights. "Bors, you remember Alecto Honorius?"

"Aye," the knight said gruffly, eyeing up the man who rode up to them. "He's changed a bit since I saw 'im last though."

Alecto smiled. "You have not changed a bit, sir."

"Eh," Bors grumbled.

"Fan out," Arthur instructed. "Space out down the sides of the caravan. The Romans don't know how to watch for ambushes in our forests."

Without another word, the knights followed their king's orders, spreading out along the sides of the caravan, Aggravaine and Culhwch taking up the rear, with Bors, Dag, Bran, and Cymbeline taking positions along the sides. Arthur remained at the front with Alecto. With a wave from Arthur, the caravan was on the move again.

Cymbeline pulled a half-unraveled braid over her shoulder and began replaiting it, letting her horse slow a bit so that Branwyr could move up beside her.

"It's been a while since I've seen this many Romans in one place," Bran murmured to her friend, casting an eye over the legionnaires that rode beside them, surrounding the wagons.

"Mmhm," Cymbeline replied absentmindedly, her eyes staring unfocused ahead.

"Who d'you think is in the second cart?" Bran glanced behind them at the smaller wagon. "That was the bishop in the first."

"No idea," Cymbeline replied.

"You know, we're supposed to be watching for ambushes," Bran teased, nudging Cymbeline's leg with her knee. "You wouldn't be able to spot an ambush if it landed on your head right now. Where's your head?"

"At the fort," Cymbeline admitted with a slight smile.

"Or more accurately riding away from it?" Bran asked.

Cymbeline laughed slightly. "I suppose. I didn't say goodbye to him. I was angry, and stubborn, and stupid, and I didn't say goodbye or wish him well or tell him to be careful or to come back to me." Her eyes began to fill with tears. "What if he doesn't come back and the last thing I said to him wasn't something I said with love?"

"He'll come back," Branwyr said softly. "He's got you and three little brats to come home to."

"Our children are not brats!" Cymbeline laughed, wiping her nose. "They're nothing like your little brothers and sisters."

"That's true," Branwyr laughed. "But don't worry. He'll be back."

"So will Beds," Cymbeline said. "And Lancelot. They'll all be back."

"They will," Bran nodded firmly.

"I just wish I'd said goodbye," Cymbeline murmured.

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Gawain and his small party stopped at a crossroads near the fort. One way would take them towards Arthur and the Romans he was escorting, if they followed it, while the other would take them to the port they planned to charter a ship from.

"We could wait for them," Galahad suggested. "Make sure Arthur still wants us to go after seeing the Romans. They should be along before too long, if Aglovale was right about how fast the caravan was moving."

Gawain paused. "We'll wait for a little while. I don't want to waste too much time."

While they waited, Dinadan pulled out his little wood harp—which had been in a satchel hung across his torso—and began to tune it.

"Gods, already?" Kei groaned. "You couldn't give us a few hours of peace before you started your torturous crooning?"

"'Torturous'?" Dinadan repeated without looking up from the harp. "That's quite the word for you, Kei. Where'd you learn it?"

Kei growled. "I'm not a fool, bard."

"Really?" Dinadan finally looked up, meeting Kei's eyes. "I've known you for five or six years now, and I've honestly spent that entire time thinking that you were a fool for sure."

"And what makes you think that?" Kei's scowl deepened.

"Oh, too many things to list," Dinadan shrugged, returning his attention to his harp. "But I really think that 'torturous' is the biggest word I've ever heard you use."

Kei growled again, but remained silent, glaring daggers at the bard. Gawain sighed and traded glances with Galahad. "Do you think they'll do that the entire time?" he asked softly.

"Hopefully not," Galahad replied.

"Look," Bedivere pointed. "On the hill. Is that Arthur?"

The knights turned to look and found Arthur cresting the hill, riding beside a man that none of them recognized. Shortly behind them were Roman soldiers, a wagon, more soldiers, another wagon, and even more soldiers. They saw the other knights strung out along the sides of the caravan as well, and Gawain's eyes immediately searched for Cymbeline.

"Look," Bran nudged Cymbeline with her knee again. "They waited for us."

Without another word, Cymbeline spurred her bay mare, flying towards the small group at the crossroads. She pulled up beside Gawain and smiled slightly. "I was afraid you'd gone."

"Much longer and we would have," he admitted.

Cymbeline reached out and grabbed his hand. "Come back to me. Promise me you'll come back to me."

"I will," Gawain said. "I promise."

"Good," Cymbeline nodded and let his hand fall away.

Gawain lifted it to her cheek and pulled her close for an awkward kiss, suspended as they were between their horses. "Take care."

Cymbeline nodded again, her eyes misty. "You too. And fare well."

"We will," Gawain smiled, sitting up.

"We'll be back before you know it," Bedivere rode around to Cymbeline's other side and tugged at her braid.

"I'll hold you to that," she pulled her hair out of his grip as Arthur and his companion approached them.

"I thought you'd have left already," Arthur looked around the group.

"We wanted to make sure you still wanted us gone after seeing the Romans," Gawain grinned.

"I never wanted you gone in the first place," Arthur replied. "I don't like sending any of you away. But we need to find Morgana—that's a priority."

Gawain nodded. "We'll do our best."

"Ride well and be careful," Arthur looked around the group again. "We'll be waiting for you."

As the last of the Romans began to make their way down the hill, Gawain and his small band began to head down the road that would take them to their destination. They rode in pairs, Gawain and Galahad at the front, Menw and Lancelot behind them, and Kei and Bedivere at the rear. The only one who rode alone was Dinadan, behind Menw and Lancelot, softly plucking his woodharp.

"We have a long road ahead of us," Menw said suddenly, "and much to see on it."

"Well, at least it'll probably make a good song," Dinadan piped up, grinning.

"No!" Kei barked. "No songs!"

"What's that, Kei?" Dinadan asked. "You want to hear a song?"

"No!" Kei cried

Ignoring Kei's protests, Dinadan began to strum a tune on his harp instead of just plucking stray notes, soon raising his voice to meet the notes:

 _The Road goes ever on and on,_ _  
_ _Down from the door where it began._ _  
_ _Now far ahead the Road has gone,_ _  
_ _And I must follow, if I can,_ _  
_ _Pursuing it with eager feet,_ _  
_ _Until it joins some larger way_ _  
_ _Where many paths and errands meet._ _  
_ _And whither then? I cannot say._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: so the nickname Cym uses in this chapter for Rhience means, according to my source (which I'm not 100% sure is accurate) "my love" in Irish. I was going to use mo stoirin, but then I couldn't remember how to spell it, so I used that instead, but it'll probably come in at some point.**

 **Disclaimer: See chapter 1.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Back on the training grounds of Camelot, Arthur and his knights led Germanius's caravan to a halt. There were far too many of them to take to the villa's small courtyard, and Arthur planned to house at least the ambassadors in the barracks anyways. He caught a glimpse of Galeschin bundling the trainees off towards the armory out of the corner of his eye, leaving only the Romans and his few knights to fill the field.

The trio of carts formed a half circle in front of Arthur, and the Romans came to a halt in formation behind them. Arthur's knights completed the circle, leaving him in the center with Alecto. Arthur waited calmly until the curtains of the largest cart fluttered open and Germanius stepped down, collecting his heavy robes around him as though he were afraid they might be contaminated by brushing the dry ground. Horton followed him, half-tumbling out of the wagon before coming to a stop behind Germanius, collecting himself and standing tall, although his eyes darted quickly between the knights.

The curtains of the second cart opened as well, and another man stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and had dark hair peppered with grey. He wore a loose, grey toga, a short brown cloak falling from his shoulders. He was instantly recognizable to Arthur, and the king placed the name Alecto had given him, Caelus Nasennius Constans, to the man, but still was unable to determine where he had met him before.

Out of the third cart strode an even taller, younger man, with a slighter frame, lighter hair, and a smirk seemingly permanently fixed to his face. Unlike Caelus, he wore rich red robes, a fringe of tiny gold medallions on each hem that jingled as he walked. Following him was a young woman with long, heavy black hair. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her cheeks were rouged, and her dress was made out of several layers of wispy, sage-green cloth.

Now, Arthur dismounted, as did Alecto. "Welcome to Britain," he said, striding forward and glancing between the Romans. "I am Arthur."

"And I am Caelus Nasennius Constans," the man from the middle cart stepped forward, confirming Arthur's guess to his identity. "I can see from your face that you do not remember me, Arthur Castus." His hazel eyes sparkled almost mischievously.

"I remember that we have met, but I'm afraid that I cannot remember when or why," Arthur admitted.

"Then I shall remind you," Caelus smiled warmly. "Eight years ago this autumn, you and six of your knights escorted me and my family out of Britain. We travelled in a wagon train to the coast, and I seem to remember you being incredibly impatient with our slow speed."

Arthur chuckled and nodded. "Now I remember. It is good to meet you again, my lord."

"And this is my son, Justinius Nasennius," Caelus gestured towards the younger man. "He was hardly more than a boy when you met him before."

"He has changed a great deal," Arthur agreed, nodding towards the young man, who looked hardly older than Alecto.

The man continued to smirk, but nodded politely in reply.

"I see that you have found new knights to fight for you," Germanius peered around the horses that Alecto and Arthur had left.

"They do not fight for me," Arthur replied. "They fight for themselves, and the ones they love, and their homes. And they do so because they have chosen to do so, not because they have been forced to."

"Ah," Germanius said politely, clearly not actually interested in the topic.

"You and the other ambassadors will stay in the barracks," Arthur said, gesturing to the building in the near distance. "Unfortunately, there is no room there or anywhere else for the majority of your men; there are fewer than thirty empty rooms in the building, but the weather is fair enough that they may camp without trouble here in the training grounds, or out in the fields if they wish."

"I see," Germanius was clearly displeased with the arrangements, but would not protest.

"Rest for tonight," Arthur continued. "We will speak in the morning. I am sure you are all tired from your journey. Aggravaine," he gestured back at the big man, "will show you which rooms you may use in the barracks; he knows best which are occupied."

Aggravaine stepped up behind Arthur and bowed slightly. "If you'll follow me," he turned sideways and gestured towards the barracks.

"Horton, bring my things," Germanius said over his shoulder as he headed in the direction Aggravaine had indicated.

Arthur suppressed a sigh as the monk scurried after the bishop, struggling with a large chest that he had hastily pulled from the cart. "Cymbeline!" he called, waving the woman over. She rode her bay mare to his side and looked down at him, her now-loose curls framing and shadowing her face. "You know where the century will be the most out of the way for training. Please show them where that is so that they can set up their camp."

Cymbeline nodded and led her horse to the side.

"Come and find me in the villa when you're done," Arthur called after her, and received a nod in return.

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Cymbeline went reluctantly to the villa once she had gotten the Roman century settled in on the training grounds, at least somewhat out of the way. She found Arthur in his office, scrawling a report. The king wrote everything down, much to the amusement of his primarily illiterate knights, who thought it a waste of time, but, having grown up in a Roman household, Cymbeline understood his compulsion. She was also one of the only knights who could read and write, which possibly influenced her opinion as well.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked dryly. She had taken the time to rebraid her hair, this time tying the end of the thick braid with a leather string, and the plait hung over her shoulder. The villa was far cooler than the outdoors, but her light cotton tunic still clung to her skin, and she could feel slick sweat under the boiled leather of her chestpiece.

"Come in," Arthur waved without looking up. "I'm almost done here."

Cymbeline stepped into the office, closing the door partway behind her. She perched on the edge of the desk, watching Arthur scribble. She could read moderately well, but Arthur wrote so quickly that the letters were hardly legible. She wondered if he could even read his own handwriting.

After a few moments, Arthur finished scrawling and set the quill aside. He sprinkled sand over the paper and set that aside as well, then looked up at the knight. "Did you see the ambassadors?"

"Yes," Cymbeline nodded. "Caelus Constans and his son."

"Yes," Arthur nodded. "It took Caelus prompting me before I remembered where I had seen them before."

"Eight years ago, on a long, wet journey to the southern coast, with one of your knights stuck in a wagon for the journey because of an injured leg?" Cymbeline offered a half smile.

"A wagon where he met a certain girl who came back a year later to plague us all with her wit and cunning?" Arthur retorted, smiling in return.

"Caelus is well enough," Cymbeline said. "He was relatively kind to me, and the word was that it was his idea to bring me back to the villa rather than leaving me to die. He was typically fair and thoughtful, and seemed to like Britain and its people well enough. I doubt that he will antagonize you, and may even side with you, depending on what it is that Germanius wants."

"And his son?" Arthur asked.

"What do you remember of Justinius?" Cymbeline sighed, picking at her fingernails.

"I remember a cruel, vicious boy who took pleasure in mocking others and in the sight of suffering," Arthur frowned. "I remember watching him and his men kick an old man for tripping and dropping firewood, and laughing while they did it. Bors chased them off before they could do much harm, but it was still a horrible sight…"

"There was so much more than that," Cymbeline sighed. "I remember seeing him torture animals, and just throwing their bodies into the fire when he got bored. When he and his sister and I were little, he would pinch us as hard as he could, and laugh when we cried, or pull our hair until it ripped from our scalps. As he got older, he began to use knives on those who he felt had wronged him. He killed the first slave when he was no more than fourteen, because he thought the man was laughing at him. He flew into a rage and flung his knife at the man, and when he fell to his knees, Justinius tackled him, punching and kicking and screaming. By the time they pulled him off, the slave was dead, his face beaten to a pulp and his neck ripped open by Justinius's bare hands."

Arthur swallowed thickly, horrified at the tales she was telling. "And there were more after this?"

"Caelus would try and stop him, but once Justinius was in a rage, he was… unstoppable," Cymbeline replied.

"What aren't you telling me?" Arthur asked, sensing her reluctance.

"For most of the time that I was there, I shared a room with the older of Caelus's daughters, Seia, and her slave, Chione," Cymbeline replied. "I hadn't even bled yet when Justinius began sneaking into it while everyone slept. He would go to each of us in turns, even Seia, and we were all too scared to fight him off, much less tell Caelus or his wife what Justinius was doing. He got bored with us before too long—and I think he was afraid of getting us pregnant. I don't know what he did after that; I was just happy when he started to leave us alone."

Arthur felt sick. Cymbeline studiously avoided his gaze, focusing on the hem of her tunic. "His father never knew?"

"No," Cymbeline said. "Not from me, not from Chione, and I doubt from Seia. And he will not know from you. But be wary of Justinius. He will fight you every step of the way, simply because he can. He will not make this easy on you."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking. "And…"

"Is that all?" Cymbeline asked, standing quickly. "I should go find my children. It's getting late."

"That is all," Arthur nodded.

With a nod, Cymbeline turned on her heel and left. She went straight to the tavern, fighting back tears, and stepped into the enclosed part of the building to the laughter of children. Unlike the villa, it was hot in here, and stuffy and humid, but the children didn't seem to mind.

"What's wrong?" Evaine was at her side moments after she entered, her two-year-old son on her hip. She rested a hand on Cymbeline's shoulder, worry clear on her face.

"Bad memories," Cymbeline forced back her tears, eyes searching for her own children. A smile split her face as she spotted Bella's bronze curls in the tangle of children.

"Mama!" a voice shouted, and Rhience streaked towards her. Cymbeline picked him up in her arms and held him close, burying her face in his orange-copper hair as his arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

"Hello, a ghrá," Cymbeline grinned down at the boy. "I missed you."

Rhience grinned toothily and held out his toy, a ragged cloth bear, for her.

"Why, thank you," Cymbeline laughed, accepting the gift. "Are you sure, though? I wouldn't want Mr. Bear to get lonely without you."

Rhience looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached out for the toy, which Cymbeline handed back with a laugh.

"They've not had dinner yet," this time it was Morgause beside Cymbeline.

"That's alright," Cymbeline replied. "I'll make them something at home."

"Really?" Morgause seemed taken aback.

"I _do_ know how to cook, you know," Cymbeline laughed. "And I need a night away from the busyness that always seems to be going on here."

"Do you need any help?" Morgause asked.

"No," Cymbeline smiled. "I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure?" Morgause called after her daughter-in-law as Cymbeline waded through the children towards Bella and Lot.

"I'm sure!" Cymbeline called over her shoulder, crouching down next to Bella. "Hello there," she smiled at the little girl. "It's time to go home."

"Okay!" Bella nodded happily, reaching out for her mother's hand, clutching her little doll in the other.

"Lot!" Cymbeline called the third child, who came running towards her. "It's time to go home," she said to the little boy. "Can you and Bella hold hands and walk with me?"

Lot nodded eagerly and grabbed Bella's hand, and the two of them headed for the door, looking extremely serious as they went. Cymbeline laughed and followed them out. "Good night!" she called back to Morgause and Evaine as she went out. The streets of the fort were, thankfully, not too busy, so keeping track of the children wasn't too much of a task.

Halfway to the apartment, Cymbeline heard her name called behind her and turned to find Lucan running towards them, all legs and arms and thin as a pole thanks to a recent growth spurt. "Hello, cousin," Cymbeline grinned at him. Lucan was taller than her now—barely by an inch, but just enough that she had to look up just the tiniest bit to meet his eyes.

"Hello," Lucan grinned. "Bedivere said that I was going to stay with you while he and Gawain were gone."

"Yes," Cymbeline nodded. "I hadn't expected to see you until later though."

"Galeschin let us leave from training early since the Romans were in the training grounds, and Morgause said that you'd taken the babies home for the night," Lucan explained. "Do you need any help?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a bad idea if I stopped to get some meat for dinner tonight," Cymbeline mused. "You can take Bella and Lot home, and I'll meet you there."

"Okay," Lucan nodded, running off after the toddlers.

Cymbeline and Rhience headed for the market, where they stopped by the butcher's shop for a cut of meat. She also went to a stall across the street for carrots and sweet peas, and to another for a loaf of bread, then headed for home, Rhience walking at her side, his tiny hand clutching hers.

Back in the little apartment, Cymbeline let Lucan play with the children in their room while she readied dinner. While barley boiled over the fire, she peeled and chopped the carrots, then added them to the water before shucking the peas and adding them as well, leaving the mixture to simmer while she cut the meat into cubes and slid them onto skewers to roast over the fire. She pulled bowls and spoons—she and Gawain only owned five of each, enough so that each member of the family had one—and set them on the table. Once the food was done, each bowl got a ladle full of barley, carrots, and peas—she and Lucan each had two—and a few pieces of meat, and the bread was cut into pieces and set in the center of the table before she called the children and her cousin to eat.

Cymbeline sat at one side of the table, Lot on her lap and Bella at her side, the little girl kneeling on the bench to be able to eat at the table, and Lucan sat on the other, Rhience kneeling beside him. They ate without much conversation, and the triplets, as usual, managed to make a mess of their food before they were done. After dinner, Lucan helped Cymbeline get the children ready for bed and settled down on the bed in her and Gawain's room.

"You can sleep in their room," Cymbeline said as she shut the door partway behind her. All of the windows and the rest of the doors in the apartment were open, but it was still hot and stuffy inside, thanks to the cooking fire and the hot weather.

"I could sleep on the floor out here if you wanted," Lucan said. "I feel bad that I'm taking a bed from your children!"

"It's fine," Cymbeline laughed. "They're more likely than not to end up in bed with me anyways."

"Are you sure?" Lucan asked, moving to clear the dishes from the table.

"I am," Cymbeline smiled. "Did you have enough to eat? There's still a little bit left."

Lucan blushed, but let her scoop the rest of the barley mixture into his bowl, along with the last two pieces of meat. "Thank you."

"With the way you've been growing, you'll need it," Cymbeline teased. She set about cleaning up the dishes while Lucan ate; the kettle was rinsed out and dumped over the railing of the stair landing, then filled again and set to boil while she rinsed the bowls. Once the water had started to bubble, she added the bowls and spoons and doused the fire, letting the heat scour the dishes. "You can wipe the table," she instructed Lucan once he'd finished eating, and he obediently complied.

Once the water had cooled enough for her to retrieve the dishes, Cymbeline set them out to dry overnight while she settled Lucan into the children's room. After that, she shut the front door of the apartment and crept into her own room, shedding her boots, leggings, and tunic to sleep in just her breastband and a pair of loose, short breeches, still sweating in the still air of the room. She groaned softly when Lot rolled into her, snuggling up to her side, heat radiating off of his little body, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. She kissed him on the head and looked over at the sprawling forms of Rhience and Bella, allowing a small smile to play across her lips at the sight. They hadn't questioned their father's absence that night—he'd gone on overnight patrols and short missions before—but the queries were soon to come. For now, she settled down for sleep, glad for the little bodies breathing softly as they slept around her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So I'm planning on alternating storylines this time around, I promise! I just wanted to post this as chapter 6 because it immediately followed the events of chapter 5. The next chapter will move to Gawain and co, and they should alternate pretty well after that. Also, the knights heading north aren't a third storyline, I just needed to thin out my cast for Cymbeline and Arthur's plotline xD However, I'm also considering making their adventure(s) a spinoff-let me know what you think about that!**

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1, please!**

The next morning, the knights assembled in the round table room. They took their seats at the table, but before they met with the Romans, Arthur wanted to hear a report from Pellinore, who had spent the day before listening to reports and complaints from various supplicants all seeking Arthur's aid or judgement on a variety of matters, while Arthur and Guinevere had been busy dealing with the Romans.

"There has been a marked increase in rogue Woad activity in the North," Pellinore said. "Morgana may have laid off on her attacks of us these past few months, but she seems to have redirected her attentions north to Caledonia instead. Jorah even sent a messenger south to ask for our aid in dealing with her attacks. Leodegrance has also been having issues with her followers."

"They're our two closest allies to the north; of course she's going after them," Cymbeline said. "She's probably trying to draw us out."

"We're sure these are Morgana's followers?" Grav asked.

"Who else would it be?" asked Bors.

"I just want to make sure we don't have a new enemy rising against us," Grav said. "We've been spending most of our time and energy fighting Morgana for the past two years; if anyone else realized that, they could have taken the opportunity to band against Arthur. Or if the Lacs still have any hard feelings against us for Nimue's death, they could be taking it out on Jorah and Leodegrance in an attempt to draw us out for revenge."

"As far as we know, the Lacs are still allied with Morgana anyways," Cymbeline said. "If it is them making these attacks, it could be for both reasons."

"None of the messengers I spoke with yesterday said anything about anyone wearing the mark of the Lacs, or otherwise bearing the symbol of the white hand," Pellinore said.

"That doesn't mean it isn't them," Arthur mused. "Who are our allies in Caledonia?"

"Jorah, Leodegrance, Cador, Madoc, Pelles, and Ector," Cymbeline replied. "Bernard and Brutus have shown no ill will towards, us, but have also not allied themselves with us. Caradoc has opposed us since Guinevere supported Jorah's claim to the seat of Clan Cunobelin. Huail opposes us openly, as do Kings Lac and Vortigern."

Arthur nodded slowly. "We well send three of you to Jorah and Leodegrance each. Culhwch, Aglovale, and Gorlois will go to Jorah in Orkney—take Lucan with you. Branwyr, Elyan, Lamorak, and Sebille will go to Leodegrance in Camellaird. I want reports _before_ you take action, understood?"

Around the table, heads nodded.

"You'll all leave tomorrow morning," Arthur continued. "Travel together as far as Camellaird. Make your preparations today; go now. I don't want the Romans to see how many of us there are now."

Without another word, the knights he had named stood, each of them bowing or nodding to the king before heading out of the chamber. The rest of the knights remained seated at the table, the remaining six trainees lined up against the wall across from Arthur.

"Is there any other business we must see to?" Arthur asked, glancing around the table. When there was no response, he nodded. "Gilly, the Romans should be in the courtyard. Bring them here."

The dark-haired boy scurried out of the room, leaving the knights to wait in silence—although that didn't last long; the soft sound of whispers soon filled the chamber as several of the knights struck up conversations.

"What do you think the Romans want?" Grav asked, leaning over Gawain's empty seat to talk to Cymbeline.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Tribute from Arthur? The southern half of Britain, including Albion, used to be Roman territory. They might want him to pay for our freedom, even though they gave up the territory."

Grav nodded as the doors opened again and Gilly marched through. He bowed deeply, his dark hair flopping forward, and presented the Roman ambassadors. A few of the knights hid smiles; the Romans may have thought that Gilly was honoring them with his bow, but the knights knew he was mocking them.

"Bishop Germanius," Arthur rose to greet them. "Caelus Constans. We welcome you to our council." He gestured towards a cluster of seats where some of the absent knights normally sat. "You may sit there."

Germanius frowned, likely at being told to sit anywhere but at Arthur's side, but took a seat, Caelus to one side of him, Alecto to the other. Horton lingered behind Germanius's seat, while Justinius sat beside Caelus, the woman from the day before standing behind him. Cymbeline felt herself shrink back into her seat, and wished she had sat next to Aggravaine instead of between Gawain and Galahad's empty chairs.

"Good morning," Arthur sat once the Romans were settled. At his side, Guinevere sat tall and proud; on the other, Ganis stared Germanius down, full of confidence. Germanius showed no sign of recognizing either of them as he glanced around the table.

"There are more of you than I expected," Germanius nodded. "That is good. I see that some of your other knights remained as well." He glanced at Bors, then at Aggravaine, who arched an eyebrow but didn't correct the mistake.

"Yes," Arthur nodded. "It was a difficult decision for all of them, but in the end, those who survived the battle with the Saxons made the choice to remain here."

"I see," Germanius nodded. "And the others?"

"All of them have chosen to sit at this table," Arthur replied. "Several of them are Bors's children, but they all just want to fight for their home."

"So they are natives?" Germanius asked, looking at Gaheris and Gareth in particular; with how similar they looked to Aggravaine, it wasn't hard to guess that the three were related.

"It doesn't matter where they came from, only that they are here now," Arthur replied. "Yes, some of them are Woads, if that's what you mean, but that isn't important. We all fight together now, because this is our home."

"I see," Germanius nodded.

"You spent your whole life fighting the Woads, and now you just… let them sit at your table? Share your bread, and your home?" Justinius scoffed.

"We have the same goal: to defend our home," Arthur replied.

"If you and the Woads are allies now, what is there to defend it from?" Justinius leaned back lazily in his chair.

"Some of the Woads still don't like the fact that we are here," Arthur replied. "That there are Romans still on the island at all. But most of our trouble comes from Roman criminals and deserters still living in the area. They raid farms and small villages, and have been so long in the forest that they are nearly as good at hiding in it as the Woads, making it very difficult to weed them out for good."

"I see," Germanius nodded. "But it appears that you have no shortage of warriors here."

"At the moment," Arthur said cautiously. "There are many knights, yes, and several more being trained, but the guard of Camelot," he gestured towards Ganis, "is always shorthanded. It has been since the Roman legion withdrew from Camelot many years ago."

"I see," Germanius nodded again.

"But that is not important," Arthur said. "What we need to discuss is what has brought you to Britain."

"Yes, yes," Germanius nodded. "But the numbers of your warriors is what has brought us here."

"I'm afraid I do not understand," Arthur said.

"Recently, the sources of our conscripts have grown… dry," Germanius explained. "What were once cities are little more than villages now, and some have disappeared altogether. Many of the villages on one of our routes through Sarmatia have vanished; some were burned and sacked by Scythian raiders, others have merely been abandoned. Some don't even have any boys for us to take any longer. Therefore, we are looking for other sources of warriors, and the Woads of Britain have always been fierce and skilled fighters, if not so much as the Sarmatians."

The table was silent for long moments.

"What?" Bors growled, rising from his chair and glaring darkly at the bishop. "You want our children?"

"They don't have to be your children," Germanius shrugged. "Take Woads from the North, for all we care."

"You stole us from our homes to fight for you in this _godforsaken_ land," Bors growled, his face growing redder. "When you finally free us, we choose to stay here to _get away from you_ , and you still come for our sons?" By the end, the big man was roaring, spittle flying and nostrils flaring.

"They don't have to be your sons," Germanius shrugged again.

"You have no right to _anyone's_ sons," Cymbeline was on her feet now, stubborn and angry. "You have no right to anyone at all!"

"You will not be taking any tribute from Britain," Arthur rose to stand as well, many of the other knights around the table following his example. "Not with our help—and not without it. We will defend this island and the people on it for as long as we can hold our swords."

"You saw us against the Saxons," Guinevere spoke up, her chin jutting forward. "Do you really want to risk what is left of your armies in a fight against us and our peoples? The Woads won't just let you take their children, even if you do get past us here, south of the wall. By the end of that fight, you'd have no armies left at all."

"Is that a threat?" Germanius snapped, leaping to his own feet.

"It is a promise," Guinevere snapped.

"You should leave, bishop," Arthur said. "You are no longer welcome here."

"We will not leave," Germanius glared at the king. "Not until this discussion has been resolved."

"It has been," said Arthur. "You will receive no tribute from Britain, nor will you take its peoples as slaves for your armies. There is no more to discuss."

"Rome will get what it wants," Germanius sniffed.

"No, it won't," Cymbeline growled. Her hand went to her knife handle, and she began to pull the weapon from its sheath.

Justinius began to laugh, slow and soft at first, but rapidly growing louder and more unhinged. Silence fell, and all eyes turned to him. He wiped tears from his eyes as his laughter died down; beside him, Caelus, lowered his head into his hand, clearly embarrassed. "You couldn't have chosen a better time for an outburst?" he murmured.

"Don't you recognize her, father?" Justinius's tone was mocking. He stood, shoving his chair back so that it nearly hit the woman standing there, and began making his way slowly around the table. "It's ironic, really; a slave advocating freedom, especially for the people who abandoned her with the Romans she apparently hates so much." He came to a stop behind Cymbeline, who clutched her dagger so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"It's not Romans that I hate," she said, her voice soft but full of venom, "only you." In a flash, her dagger was in her hand, it's blade glinting in the torchlight where she held it against Justinius's throat.

"That is enough!" Arthur shouted.

Reluctantly, Cymbeline lowered her dagger.

"We will break for the day," Arthur said. "If war can be avoided, it must be; we will reconvene tomorrow morning to discuss this again."

"Discuss what?" Bors spat. "They want us to join them in practicing slavery. The Arthur I know would never agree to that."

"Watch your words," Arthur glared at his old friend. "Do not think to speak for me. We will reconvene in the morning."

With a huff, Bors stormed out of the chamber, many of the other knights hurrying after him. Aggravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth stayed behind with Cymbeline, who still glared at Justinius.

"Didn't you used to be mute?" Justinius asked, smirking again.

"I learned to be silent," Cymbeline thrust her chin forward. "A pity you never learned to be kind."

Justinius's smirk vanished and he glared down at the girl. "You'd best watch yourself, slave."

In an instant, Cymbeline's bone-handled knife was at his throat. "You're the one who would do to watch himself. I am no slave."

"Cymbeline!" Arthur called, his voice weary. "Don't threaten our guests. Please."

Several heartbeats passed before Cymbeline lowered her blade and slipped it smoothly back into its sheath. She stared defiantly at Justinius until he took a step back, then shoved her way past him and made for the door, Aggravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth trailing along behind her. Dagonet, who had waited by the door, followed as well.

"Cym?" Grav asked softly, hurrying to keep pace with the smaller woman, who was practically running.

"If he threatens me, I'll kill him," Cymbeline said. Her face was drawn, her eyes dark, and her voice was thick, as though she were holding back tears.

"They'd kill you in return," Grav said.

"It would be worth it to rid the world of a creature like Justinius Constans."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, let's get one thing straight. I know nothing about ships. I'm like 99% sure schooners weren't invented for another few hundred years or more, and I'm not even entirely sure that the ship I'm describing here is even a cutter. But I don't ship. I'm very much like Galahad in that I get EXTREMELY seasick at even the vaguest shiplike movement. But this is the ship I'm describing, so if you have a problem with it, oh well. I think it's relatively clear at this point that I'm not really going for much historical accuracy in this story. I was an English major, not a History major, and none of my History major friends talk to me much any more so I can't bug them with questions on the Roman empire any more xD My brother, who has a vague understanding of nautical history, recommended "cutter" over "schooner", so hopefully it's a little more accurate than what my initial version was...**

 **The song Dinadan sings here is "Stars" by Heather Dale. Here's a link! !youtu!.be!/STHzPemtOnY (take out the !) This is one of my favorite songs by her, and I really wanted to incorporate it into the story, since Dinadan is so prominent and I'm not creative enough to write my own songs for him to sing. This seemed like the perfect time, mostly for the verse about sailing!**

 **Also (and this is the last thing, I promise!), I'm kind of combining Selkies and Sirens here, I know, but oh well. Selkies are more prominent (I think) in the folklore of Ireland and Scotland, which is where this is taking place, and they've already been mentioned in this story, so I just wanted to stick with them.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Feel free to drop a review or PM and let me know what you think/thought (unless you want to complain about my nonexistent knowledge of Roman seafaring vessels)!**

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1!**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

It didn't take Gawain and his companions long to reach the coast of Britain. They went to the nearest port to the east, which was a small but bustling port. They found an inn to stay in for the night, and Gawain took Menw and Galahad with him to find a ship to Avalon, sending Bedivere and Kei to purchase provisions and leaving Dinadan and Lancelot to stable the horses at the inn.

At the harbor, Gawain began to head towards the harbormaster, but Menw caught his arm and stopped him.

"Not that way," the seer said vaguely, his eyes unfocused. "Follow me."

Gawain arched an eyebrow and traded an incredulous glance with Galahad, but followed the robed man. He led them along the busy docks, dodging crates, barrels, and other cargo being loaded and unloaded from the many ships, towards a small cutter anchored near the end of the port. The ship was in relatively good repair, although its sails had been patched and mended countless times and the boards were salt-stained so extensively that they hardly looked like wood any longer.

"This one," Menw smiled, pointing at the boat.

"What makes you so sure?" Gawain asked, his eyebrows rising.

"I've seen it," Menw replied. "The captain will take us to Avalon." Without another word, he set off for the ship.

Gawain shrugged and followed, Galahad behind him. They traversed a rickety gangway, Galahad clinging tightly to a rope strung beside it as a handrail, and stepped onto a somehow immaculately clean deck. There were a few deckhands doing chores around the ship, but Menw paid them no mind, heading straight for the wheel, where a burly man with a thick beard and long, wind-blown hair stood talking to a young boy carrying a bucket. They waited patiently until he was finished, and then Menw strode up to him.

"Hello," the Welshman smiled up at the man. "I am Menw. These are my companions, Gawain and Galahad. We are seeking passage to the isle of Avalon."

"Avalon?" the man's brow furrowed. "Really."

"Yes," Menw nodded.

The man's face broke into a grin and he chuckled deeply. "Alright. Who sent you? Was it Hagar? Or Sander?"

"Neither," Menw shook his head. "We've come from Camelot."

"Where's that?" the man frowned.

"West of here," Menw said vaguely.

"But who told you to come to _me_?" the captain crossed his arms. "Any of the other captains around here are more likely to laugh you back to Camel-town than give you any ideas on how to get to Avalon. None of them even believe it's real."

"But you do?" Menw smiled.

"I've been there," the captain shrugged. "The isle shrouded in mist? Sometimes you can hear the selkies singing in the fog. Everyone else says it's just the wind, but I know better. I've seen the shores of the island itself."

"Then you're exactly the man we're looking for, Captain..?" Menw trailed off.

"Jacken," the captain held out a meaty hand to shake first Menw's, then Gawain's and Galahad's.

"So you'll take us to Avalon, Captain Jacken?" Gawain asked.

"Just Jacken," the man laughed, a deep sound that bubbled up from his large belly. "Yes, I'll take you to Avalon. But you never answered my question: how did you find me?"

"I saw you in a vision," Menw replied simply.

Jacken's eyebrows shot up. "I see. Well, I suppose that if you believe me about Avalon, I can believe you about a vision. We'll leave at high tide in three days. Don't be late. We'll discuss payment later."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

On the morning Jacken had appointed, the six knights and their seer stood on the dock by Jacken's ship, _Old Duke_. They had stabled their horses in the city, since the ship was too small to carry the mounts as well as their riders, and were carrying all of their supplies and weapons themselves. Lancelot, Bedivere, Kei, and Dinadan followed Menw onto the ship, seemingly unbothered at the prospect of the voyage, but Galahad hung back, Gawain with him.

"Why did I agree to this," Galahad groaned, staring mournfully up at the ship.

"You did volunteer," Gawain pointed out, thumbs hooked in the straps of his pack.

"It was a moment of weakness," Galahad grumbled. "Passing insanity."

"It's a little too late to back out now."

"I already feel sick."

"That's because you skipped breakfast."

"I didn't want to just throw it up in an hour!"

"No, instead you'd rather dry heave over the railing."

"It's better than vomiting over the railing."

"Not by much."

"Are you sure I can't stay with the horses? I'm not positive we can trust that innkeeper…"

Gawain sighed deeply. "Galahad, you spent fifteen years fighting Woads with a dwindling group of knights. You faced down a Saxon horde of thousands without batting an eye. You travelled to Rome, the one place on this earth you hate more than Britain. And yet you can't get on a small ship for a voyage that shouldn't last more than a day or two?"

Galahad moaned wordlessly.

"Let's go," Gawain said firmly, feeling more like he was talking to one of his children than his closest friend. "Or I'll pick you up over my shoulder you and carry you onto the ship."

"You can't pick me up over your shoulder," Galahad grumbled, reluctantly shuffling his feet to take tiny steps towards the ship. "I'm too heavy."

"Shall we find out?" Gawain threatened.

Galahad groaned again, but started to make his way up the gangway, clinging to the rope beside it. They were met at the top by Bedivere, who was doing his best to hide a smile. "Here," he said, offering the older knight a chunk of something. "It's ginger. Chew it. It might help your stomach settle."

Galahad eyed the chunk warily. "I don't want to throw it up."

"If it settles your stomach, you won't throw it up," Bedivere said.

Gawain left the two to argue and went in search of Jacken. He found the captain speaking with Menw near the stern. "Jacken," he nodded in greating.

"Welcome aboard!" the captain clapped him on the shoulder. "The wind looks fair. It should be smooth sailing today."

"I think we'd be grateful for that," Gawain smiled, glancing back at where Galahad and Bedivere were still arguing.

"If you're all aboard, we'll be setting off once the tide rises just a bit more," Jacken said.

"We are," Gawain nodded. He winced as he heard faint music drifting back from the bow. "And I apologize in advance for the bard. If he bothers you, I can tell him to stop."

Jacken just laughed, clapped the knight on the shoulder again, and headed off. Gawain and Menw made for the bow, where the rest of the knights had gathered. As they approached, Dinadan began to sing:

 _Have you ever been on the road between holds,_ _  
_ _As the sun falls away, and the darkness turns cold_ _  
_ _And the moon will not rise 'til the night has grown old_ _  
_ _And the only things left are the stars?_

It wasn't long before the ship began to move out into the channel; it was a clear enough day that they could just see the haze of the Gaulish coast in the distance. Jacken and his sailors took them out near the middle of the water before turning north. The day was bright and sunny, and the knights could feel the heat of the sun on their backs. Sweat beaded under their armor, but the sea breeze kept them from getting too warm. Gawain leaned against the rail of the ship, his back to Gaul, watching the British coast slip past them. Beside him, Galahad leaned over the rail, head down; although the dark-haired knight was looking rather green, he hadn't begun heaving yet, for which those around him were grateful. Dinadan's song continued, the breeze carrying his voice and the notes of his woodharp.

 _Those born as the air, those who rule up above_ _  
_ _With a kingdom forever held fast by their love_ _  
_ _With all they can do, it will ne'er be enough_ _  
_ _To reach the impossible stars._

 _Those born for the earth, who do work by their hands,_ _  
_ _They sweat and exert their will over the land,_ _  
_ _When the labour is done, their fatigue does demand_ _  
_ _That they rest while the moon courts the stars._

As they sailed, the breeze began to die down, until by midday the air was almost completely still. The sun continued to rise and beat down on them, it started to get uncomfortable. Lancelot, in particular, seemed uncomfortable. He began to squirm, tugging at his armor in an attempt to scratch at itches beneath it.

"Ignore them," Gawain said, nudging the boy.

"But it itches," Lancelot grumbled.

"The more you scratch, the more it'll itch," Gawain said. "Sit on your hands if you have to, and focus on something else—the sky, the coast"—

—"How green Galahad is turning," Kei grinned.

"If you don't think about the itch, it'll stop itching," Gawain ignored the Celt.

Lancelot seemed dubious, but he stopped squirming quite so much, at least for a few minutes. Before long, however, he was back to wriggling around, so Gawain set him to sharpening his weapons, hoping that would distract the boy enough.

As the day wore on, the waters grew still around them, and Gawain went in search of the captain.

"Is this normal?" he asked, gesturing around them.

"No," Jacken replied. "Not for most places, anyways. But for Avalon? There is no normal."

Frowning, Gawain returned to the bow with the other knights. As the ship continued to creep through the still waters, moving slowly on a faint current without the wind to push them faster, the air began to grow more humid. Partway through the evening, Gawain realized with a start that he could no longer see either coast, the humidity having coalesced into a fog.

"We're getting close," Menw murmured, staring vaguely into the fog in front of them.

The fog grew thicker as they passed on, and the sun set above them, plunging them into darkness. A few hours after the sun had set, the fog began to thin ever so slightly, illuminating the deck of the ship with the bright light of the full moon and the stars around it.

 _Those born to the sea, with its roll and its swell_ _  
_ _Know the faces and names of those patterns so well_ _  
_ _And each night on the ocean's a story to tell_ _  
_ _But the only observers are stars._

Dinadan sang the last verse softly, aware of the way sound carried over water. As the last echoes of his voice died away, they heard an answering warble from somewhere in the fog. Dinadan and Lancelot jumped to their feet, the bard nearly dropping his woodharp. The other knights jerked to attention, their hands going for their weapons as they searched for the source of the voice.

"Where..?" Lancelot peered into the fog. "I don't see anything out there."

"What was that?" Kei shuddered. "It didn't sound human."

"Selkies," Menw breathed, his face awestruck. "Jacken said that sometimes you could hear selkies singing in the fog near Avalon."

"Does that mean we're getting close?" Gawain murmured.

"I'm not sure," Menw said.

The voice was joined by another, and then another. The knights relaxed slightly, although their hands hovered near their weapons.

It was nearly midnight when the fog broke suddenly in front of them and an island materialized, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Is that it?" Lancelot asked, leaning forward and squinting at the shoreline.

"I would think so," Dinadan said. "I don't imagine there are many islands around here."

Lancelot shrugged. "But if Avalon is just sitting here in the middle of the channel, why don't more people believe in it?"

"You can only find the island if it wants you to find it," Jacken's booming voice made them all jump, and several swords made it halfway out of their sheaths before the knights recognized the voice. "Not just anyone can stumble upon it." The moonlight glinted off of his teeth as he grinned, the expression barely visible through his beard. "It seems to like me. I'm one of the few that can find it reliably."

The knights traded dubious glances, but didn't question the captain's assertion.

"We'll row you ashore in the morning," Jacken continued. "It's not safe at night; there are rocks in these waters."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey, guys! This chapter doesn't cover quite as much as I was planning, but I was afraid that if I started to go into the actual venture into Broceliande, the chapter would end up being extremely long.**

 **The quote that Gawain attributes to his father actually comes from** ** _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_** **, chapter 3, by J.R.R. Tolkien (I know, a Tolkien reference in something I wrote? What a surprise!). The first song that Dinadan sings is another verse from Tolkien's** ** _The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun_** **, specifically lines 43-46. The second song that Dinadan sings is "Dh'èirich mi moch madainn cheòthar", a traditional Scots Gaelic song. Specifically, I took the lyrics from Julie Fowlis's version of the song, which you can find on YouTube, and the lyrics can be found on her website.**

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. I do not own** ** _Lord of the Rings_** **or** ** _The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun_** **; they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien/the Tolkien estate!**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

True to his word, Jacken and his men took the knights ashore in the morning. The rocky beach was crescent-shaped, an open patch in the stony cliffs around them. The knights bid the sailors farewell, then began to make their way up the least steep of the slopes surrounding them. The climb was a struggle, and they were sweating profusely even in the cool morning air by the time they reached the top.

"Well…" Bedivere rested his hands on his hips and looked around as they all paused to catch their breath. "Where to next?"

For all that Avalon was supposedly a small island, it certainly looked as big as Britain once you stood on its shores. Near the cliffs, the grass and other foliage was sparse, but it rapidly grew more and more dense, until it formed into a dark forest that looked practically impenetrable.

"We need to go in there," Menw pointed towards the forest.

"Naturally," Bedivere said.

"How?" Galahad grumbled. He was still green-tinged, and swayed slightly on his feet when he stood, but was recovering rapidly from the short sea voyage. "It's not like there's a road or anything."

"Not that we can see," Menw admitted. "But if we follow our feet, we'll find the way."

"My father always used to say that "it's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.'" Gawain mused. "I don't remember much about my father, but I've always found that to be good advice. If you don't know where you're going, it's not hard to end up someplace you don't want to be. We can't afford that right now—we can't afford to get lost or into trouble, and if we aren't careful about our path, that's exactly what's going to happen."

"The problem with that is that we have no way of knowing where it is we're meant to be going," Bedivere said. "All we _can_ do is wander and hope that we find Morgana."

"No," Gawain shook his head. "That's not the only thing we can do. Look." He pointed at a narrow dirt track that wound through the grass and shrubbery, about ten feet from the edge of the cliff. "Someone or something made that, and it looks more like a track made by people than animals. If we follow it long enough, we should reach some sort of settlement, and we can ask the people who live there about Morgana."

"A solid plan," Menw nodded.

"You disagree?" Gawain arched an eyebrow at the seer.

"Not at all!" Menw said earnestly. "I honestly think that that's a good plan."

"And even if they can't tell us about Morgana, they might be able to show us a road into the forest," Bedivere mused. "Because if Morgana _is_ on this island, that seems like the most likely place for her to go to hide."

"Let's go," Gawain said, urging Lancelot and Galahad to their feet. "The sun is already getting high. We don't want to waste the whole day talking about this."

They fell into the same formation they had ridden in leaving Camelot: Gawain and Galahad at the front, followed by Menw and Lancelot, then Dinadan, with Kei and Bedivere at the rear. As they walked, Dinadan began yet again to softly pluck the strings of his woodharp.

"Really?" Kei growled. "You're going to do that while we _walk_?"

"Why not?" Dinadan grinned over his shoulder. "Any good bard can play and walk at the same time, and a little music to lift the spirits never hurt anyone."

"Really?" Kei grumbled. "Because it's starting to hurt me."

Ignoring him, Dinadan began to sing:

 _In Britain's land beyond the waves_

 _are stony hills and stony caves;_

 _the wind blows ever over hills_

 _and hollow caves with wailing fills._

"The problem with that," Lancelot half-turned towards the bard, "is that we're not on Britain any more. Also, there are no caves filled with wailing wind. Or much wind at all."

"Really?" Dinadan asked, his eyes sparkling. "What do you think the singing was last night? Do you really believe in selkies, or do you think it was wind blowing through caves and hollow rocks we couldn't see through the fog?"

Lancelot had no reply, and turned to face forward again.

"That's what I thought!" Dinadan crowed.

"Enough," Gawain called over his shoulder. "That's enough bickering. Keep your mouths closed and your eyes and ears open. If Morgana is on this island and finds out that we're here, it won't go well for us. I don't want to die because you two were too busy chatting to notice an ambush before it hit us."

Obediently, they fell silent, although Dinadan continued to strum his harp softly. The breeze was gentle, carrying cool air from the sea only a few feet and a long drop to their right, and helped to combat the heat of the sun as it rose high over their heads.

It was Menw who spotted the village, late in the afternoon. "There," he pointed, indicating a huddle of small humps between the cliffs and the forest, which had grown more distant as they traveled. "I think we've found your settlement, Gawain."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

They approached the village, which was just a collection of low earthen mounds surrounded by fields, cautiously. They were spotted first by a young man working one of the fields, and he immediately brandished his scythe at them.

"Who are you?" he called.

"Not here to do you any harm," Gawain called back, holding up his hands to show that his weapons remained on his belt, the other knights and Menw following suit. "We're just looking for someone."

The man crept closer, gripping the scythe tightly and eyeing the travelers warily. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"My name is Gawain," the bronze-haired knight replied, lowering his hands but keeping them visible. "These are my companions. That is Galahad, the boy is Lancelot and his friend in the impractical clothes is Menw. Dinadan is the one with the harp, Kei is the one who looks like he swallowed something rotten, and Bedivere is the last."

The man continued to eye them cautiously, especially Kei and Bedivere, the largest of the knights, but seemed to relax slightly. "I'm Connor. You said you were looking for someone?"

"Yes," Gawain nodded. "Her name is Morgana. She is a sorceress and warrior from Caledonia in the north of Britain. She led attacks on us and our people, but escaped the last battle unharmed. She has continued to send her followers to attack us, but we have been unable to catch her for the past two years. We finally got word that she may be hiding here on Avalon, and our king sent us to search for her."

"Well, this is the biggest village on this side of the island," Connor said slowly. "I spend a lot of time going around to the others with my father—he's one of the only blacksmiths on Avalon, and does most of the metalwork for many of the villages—and I haven't noticed anyone new lately. What does this Morgana look like?"

"She's tall and has long black hair," Galahad supplied. "No-one really got a great look at her, and only a few of us even saw her from afar."

"No, I haven't seen anyone like that," Connor shook his head.

"Am I to understand, friend, that the woods here are part of the famed forest of Broceliande?" Menw piped up.

"Yes," Connor nodded. "Broceliande takes up most of Avalon. We can't do anything about it; it's said that if you cut down the trees, you'll be cursed to die a horrible death. And they're oddly hard to cut down anyways—there was a man once when I was a child who tried. He spent hours and hardly made a mark on the thing."

"Did he die?" Lancelot peered around Gawain.

"He was dying already," Connor replied. "A wasting sickness from rot in a wound. He fell while he was cutting the tree and never got up again."

Lancelot shuddered.

"What else can you tell us about the forest?" Gawain asked.

"It is strangely silent," Connor said. "Birds won't nest in the trees once you get more than half a mile in, and most of the other wildlife won't go in even that far. Except for deer. There are a lot of deer in Broceliande."

Gawain nodded. "Anything else?"

"Don't go off the path," Connor said. "They say that anyone who goes off the path will never find it again. And don't eat or drink anything you find in the forest."

"Why?" Dinadan asked.

"I don't know," Connor said. "Some people say that it's all poison and will kill you as soon as you touch it. Others say you'll be cursed if you do. Some say that if you eat or drink anything from Broceliande you'll be enslaved to a god. Or a wizard, or an angel—no-one can agree on that either."

Gawain nodded. "Thank you. Would it be alright if we camped at the edge of your village tonight? We'll go into the forest in the morning."

"I don't see why not," Connor shrugged. "But there's also an empty house on the north side of the village; no-one has lived there since the man I told you about, the one who tried to cut down the tree in the forest. I don't think anyone would mind if you stayed there for the night."

"Thank you," Gawain smiled. "You've been very helpful."

Connor showed them to the hut he had mentioned, and they stepped inside. It was surprisingly cool in the small, dark hut; the low earth dome covered a shallow pit, no more than three feet deep, that added to the height of the hut. There was only one room, almost completely empty, save for a few old, dusty crates stacked to one side of the door. The hut smelled musty, a combination of the earth it was made of and the disuse it had fallen into, but was comfortable and, again, cool.

The knights spread their bedrolls and sat on the ground, checking over their kits and eating a meager dinner of dried meat, fruit, and vegetables and stale bread.

"Menw, you're the one who says that Morgana's in the forest," Gawain said. "Do you have any idea where?"

"No," Menw shook his head. "All I can tell you is what I said before: I saw her on a silver throne in a chamber made from living trees, and then the throne turned to stone and the trees withered and died. I don't know how to get to this place, or how to find it."

"Maybe we could ask Connor if he knows," Lancelot suggested.

"I got the impression that Connor and his people don't go into the forest much," Bedivere said. "Something tells me he wouldn't be much help."

"I don't think so either, but it couldn't hurt to ask," Gawain mused. "We can ask him in the morning, before we leave."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The next day, the knights rose early, packed up their gear, and were outside before the sun had burned off the morning mist. Gawain rolled his shoulders, which were sore from the previous day's trek with his pack on his back, before slipping the straps of the rucksack over his shoulders.

"You're off, then?" Connor approached them from the center of the village.

"Yes," Gawain nodded. "But before we leave, we wanted to ask you if you knew of anywhere in the forest that looked like a room made out of the trunks and boughs of living trees, with a silver chair on a dais and a pool flowing with fresh water.

Connor laughed. "That's oddly specific. No, I don't know of any place like that in the forest. My people don't really go into the woods much."

"We thought as much," Menw smiled. "Thank you anyways."

"No problem," Connor shook his head, still chuckling. "Be careful in there. Remember: don't eat or drink anything you find there, and don't stray off the path."

"Of course," Menw nodded. "We appreciate the warnings."

Connor nodded and headed off for the fields, where several of the other villagers could already be seen working.

Without further ado, the knights started off for the forest, walking in their usual order. Dinadan, unsurprisingly, pulled out his harp and, after tuning it, began to quietly sing:

 _Dh'èirich mi moch madainn cheòthar_ _  
Hò gurie hòm ò  
's shuidh mi air a chnocan bhòidheach  
Hi rim i call eile  
Hò a ho hì rì  
Eu rubh i a ho eu  
Hò gurie hòm ò_

"What does that mean?" Menw asked, falling back to walk beside the bard.

"It's a song about a woman waiting for her lover to come and sit and talk with her," Dinadan replied. "But he's too late to ask her to marry him, and she's forced to marry a man she doesn't love and who doesn't provide for her, but she ends the song by swearing that the only person she's ever truly loved was the man she waited for at the hill." He shrugged. "I just thought of it because the first line, _Dh'èirich mi moch madainn cheòthar_ , means _I woke up early on a misty morning_."

Menw laughed. "Appropriate, then."

"Exactly," Dinadan grinned.

By this time, they had entered the forest. Under the canopy of the trees, it was much cooler than they had expected, even for the early hour. Gawain suppressed a shiver and half-expected to be able to see his breath when he exhaled. The bright morning sun hardly even penetrated the thick leaves, and the light under them was dim and green-tinged. Gawain glanced back the way they had come and was startled to realize that the entrance they had followed into the forest had almost completely faded from sight already; it didn't seem like they'd gone far enough for that to happen. When he turned to face forward again, the woods loomed even darker ahead of them, the trees towering tall and menacing—he hadn't thought that trees could be menacing, but these certainly were.

"I don't like it in here," he heard Lancelot murmur behind him.

"It's just a forest," Kei's voice grumbled from the rear. "Just trees. Trees can't hurt you."

"Normal trees can't," Dinadan retorted.

"And what do you think these trees are?" Kei retorted.

"They're certainly not normal," Menw's voice was soft, full of wonder. "Can't you feel it? Nothing here is normal. I think we should heed Connor's warning and stay on the path. I'm not sure I'd want to find out what's beyond it."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Wow, this chapter is a long one! The only thing I've posted, at least recently, that's longer (or even close in length at all) is Poison, from The Stories We Haven't Heard! However, since there are only two scenes here, the first one didn't feel long enough to be in a chapter on its own. So have a chapter full of backstory for Cymbeline that no-one asked for or probably wanted! But I hope you enjoy it anyways!**

 **Also, sorry for the long gap between updates; there's probably going to be another one coming up. I'm currently in Massachusetts! Yay! I'm spending a week visiting my college and friends up north, and I didn't finish the next chapter before I left, because I was so busy getting ready to leave! I might get that one done while I'm here, but I'm not promising anything so don't hold your breath! But the weather is perfect (if frigid) and I'm planning on taking some long walks through the woods while I'm here, which is always inspiring, especially considering that half of this story takes place in a forest, and I haven't been in a proper forest since I graduated and went back home.**

 **Also also! (sorry, I'm almost done, I swear) This story got it's first follower! Thanks so much to Tolandiel94! I hope I don't disappoint xD**

 **Disclaimer: See chapter 1.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The Romans did not leave in the morning. Nor did they leave the morning after that, or the next, or the next. Nearly two weeks after they had arrived, they were still in Camelot. Most days, they met with Arthur and a few of the knights—Arthur had quickly realized that allowing all of the knights still in Camelot to remain for the discussions would only lead to shouting matches and threats directed at the Romans. Instead, he would send away everyone but Guinevere, Ban, Pellinore, Bors the Elder, Aggravaine, and Cymbeline. For the first few small council meetings, he had allowed Bors to stay as well, but quickly realized that doing so was not a good idea, as Bors was the instigator of much of the shouting.

"We will not return to Rome until you have agreed to our terms," Germanius insisted imperiously—for at least the third time that day alone. "You must swear fidelity to Rome and agree to send warriors to serve in the Roman army for a period of time yet to be determined."

Arthur sighed. His head hurt. It seemed like every day that they sat down to this discussion, the headache started earlier and earlier. "You are welcome to stay in Camelot as long as you'd like, Bishop, but we will not agree to those terms. Rome has our respect, and we will not oppose it until and unless it gives us a reason to do so, but it does not have our fealty. And we will never promise a tribute of lives to the empire."

Germanius's face drew up into a stubborn scowl that Arthur remembered from a similar discussion seven years earlier, when Germanius had insisted that Arthur and his knights travel north of the Wall to rescue Alecto's family. Arthur had lost one of his men as a direct result of that mission, and two more had fallen immediately after. He had given in to Germanius's demands that time and Dagonet had died for it; he wouldn't take the lives of countless others to satisfy this dictate.

Arthur noticed, from across the table, as Cymbeline jumped in her seat, her eyes glued to the door of the chamber. Following her gaze, Arthur noticed that the door had cracked open and a little round face, topped with dark hair, was peering into the chamber. As the door was behind them, the Romans had yet to notice.

"Maybe we could come to a compromise," Caelus was saying as Cymbeline carefully and silently slipped out of her chair and began to creep towards the door.

"Are we boring you?" Justinius drawled. The young man was, as usual, sprawled lazily in his chair, eyes either staring unfocused across the room or following Cymbeline's every movement.

"My apologies, my lord," Cymbeline bowed slightly towards Arthur. "I'm afraid that I'm being called away."

"Of course," Arthur nodded. At the brief glimpse he'd gotten, he couldn't tell whether the child belonged to him and Guinevere or Bors and Vanora—they were the only ones who had children possibly old enough to be opening the heavy door of the council chamber on their own—but had no way of excusing himself gracefully from the discussion to find out, nor did Guinevere.

Cymbeline bowed slightly again and made for the door, keeping her movements measured and controlled until she was out of sight of the Romans, promptly darting through the door and shutting it behind her.

Arthur suppressed another sigh as Caelus began speaking again, elaborating on the idea of coming to a compromise, and seriously wished that he could find some way to end the meeting. A glance around the table showed that his knights felt similarly: Pellinore seemed to be almost dozing with his head propped up on his hand, Bors the Elder was obviously sleeping, his head thrown back and his mouth open—Arthur was surprised he couldn't hear the old man's snores—while Aggravaine was fiddling with his dagger instead of paying attention. Only Ban, and possibly Guinevere, who Arthur couldn't see without turning away from the Romans, seemed remotely engaged. As for the Romans, Germanius was still sulking in his seat while Caelus droned; Justinius's eyes were lidded heavily now that the distraction of Cymbeline was gone, and Alecto seemed to be doing his best to pay attention, to little avail. Horton was shifting on his feet from his post behind Germanius's chair, and Justinius's consort Aria, who he insisted on bringing everywhere with him, looked ready to fall asleep where she was standing.

"What if Rome agreed to a simple oath that you will not take up arms against the empire, rather than an actual vow of fidelity?" Caelus suggested.

Arthur pondered the suggestion for a moment, trading glances with Guinevere and the knights around the table. "We will consider that," he conceded finally, unwilling to make any promises to the Romans.

"Excellent!" Caelus seemed extremely please. "I think that we've actually made some progress today."

Arthur offered him a slightly pained smile as Caelus stood, followed by Justinius and Alecto. Germanius stood more slowly, as did Arthur, Guinevere, and the knights. "I think that we should break for the day," Caelus said firmly. "You will need time to consider the suggestion, and it seems like some of your men might have had a long night." The last was accompanied by a glance towards Bors the Elder, who was still sound asleep.

"I think that this would be an excellent place to end for the day," Arthur agreed, fully aware that his voice was slightly too eager.

With a broad smile, Caelus turned and swept out of the chamber, the other Romans trickling out after him. Ban nudged Bors the Elder to wake him, and the old man jumped. "What did I miss?" he demanded, noticing that the Romans were gone.

"It has been suggested that the Romans will settle simply for an agreement not to take up arms against them, rather than a full-fledged vow of fealty," Ban said, helping the oldest member of the Round Table to his feet.

"Bah," Bors growled. "They may agree to that for a few years, but before long, they'd be back and wanting more."

"I'm inclined to agree," Arthur sighed. "But we may not have a choice. If I have to swear not to fight Rome in exchange for them leaving the people of this island alone, I would do so in a heartbeat—I think we all would."

"I agree," Aggravaine spoke up. "All of us," he gestured at the aging Sarmatians, "were forced to fight for Rome. It's not something I'd wish on anyone. I understand that the original agreement was made to save lives, but it ended up taking many more."

"The Romans need to learn to fight their own battles," Guinevere said scornfully. "They take the sons of others so that their own can grow up soft, pampered, and spoiled—that Justinius Constans is a perfect example of that. If they want to protect their empire, they should be the ones to do it, not us."

Arthur nodded. "I think we can all agree that there are many reasons that taking a tribute of lives would be wrong. I for one will never let that happen, at least not here. There may not be anything I can do for other territories the Romans think to extract this tribute from, but I can and will stop it from happening in Britain."

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

Cymbeline followed Sallem from the villa to Vanora's tavern. The boy hadn't explained what he needed her for, but led her through the busy streets at a brisk pace. When Cymbeline entered the enclosed section of the tavern, she was immediately assaulted by the sound of a screaming child. A quick scan of the room found Rhience, red-faced and shrieking at what had to be the top of his lungs, in Morgause's arms, the woman looking extremely tired and overwhelmed. Several of the other youngest children were crying as well, likely upset by Rhience's wailing. Cymbeline hurried across to Morgause and took Rhience, shushing him and bouncing him on her hip.

"What happened?" she asked Morgause as Rhience began to quiet ever so slightly.

"I'm not really sure," Morgause replied. She picked up Bella, who had dried tears on her cheeks and looked nearly ready to start crying again. "He started crying a little bit, and then I picked him up and he just got louder and louder. None of us could get him to calm down, not even Vanora, so we decided to get you."

Cymbeline nodded and hugged Rhience close, swaying from side to side where she stood, but it didn't do much good. She sat down at one of the tables, keeping the toddler close, and began humming to him. As they sat, Llamrei and Amr, a pair of inseparable five-year-olds, would run up and offer an item to Rhience. When the younger boy continued to cry, they would run away and come back a few minutes later with a new gift for the toddler. Some of the objects were flowers, rocks, or sticks from outside, some were carved wooden animals, and one was a doll that Cymbeline suspected had been stolen from Jennie or Bella.

It took a while, but Cymbeline was eventually able to calm Rhience down so that he was no longer screaming, but long, hiccupping sobs continued to escape the boy.

"That's better," Cymbeline murmured soothingly, rubbing her hand in circles on her son's back.

"Hey," Olwyn whispered, sliding onto the bench beside Cymbeline, her baby cradled in one arm. "How is he?"

"Starting to settle down some," Cymbeline said.

"That's good," Olwyn smiled, brushing Rhience's hair off of his forehead. "If you want to take him home, we can watch Bella and Lot for the night. I'm sure someone could bring them back to your apartment later."

"I might take you up on that," Cymbeline nodded.

"Do you have food for dinner?" Olwyn asked.

"I'm not sure," Cymbeline thought for a moment. "How does a trip to the market sound, Rhi? Would that be okay?" she leaned back to look down into the little boy's tear-stained face.

Rhience looked back up at her, eyes watery and lower lip trembling, but nodded slightly.

"Okay," Cymbeline smiled. "We'll be fast, I promise."

Rhience reached up to wrap his arms around her neck and pulled himself close, pressing his sweaty, tear-covered face against her neck. Cymbeline winced slightly at the contact—it was far too hot to be so close to someone—but obligingly pulled her youngest child close against her.

"Are you sure you'll be alright with Lot and Bella?" Cymbeline turned to Olwyn.

"We'll be fine," Olwyn smiled. "We'll send them home with Tristan or Dag."

"Okay," Cymbeline stood. "Thank you."

"Of course," Olwyn grinned. "You did the same for me when this one was born. And even if you hadn't, I'd still say the same."

Cymbeline smiled and grabbed the younger woman's hand, giving it a slight squeeze before heading for the door. The clamor of the market was at its low point for the day, which she and Rhience were both grateful for. Cymbeline searched out some fresh apples and berries, along with some small dense scones and a bundle of mint leaves. At home, she left the basket of groceries on the table in the main room and carried Rhience into the children's room, her arms beginning to protest at carrying him for so long. She laid him down on his bed after prying his arms from their grip on her neck and discovered that he'd fallen asleep at some point, although he was still hiccupping slightly. As quietly as possible, she snuck back out of the bedroom and closed the door partway behind her, then settled down at the table and began peeling, coring, and slicing the apples.

The first thing she did while Rhience slept was to boil the apples until they were soft, then drained them and set them in a bowl to the side while she started some oatmeal to boil as well. That done, she mashed the apples, sorted the berries into their own bowls, and stirred the oatmeal to keep it from burning. Part way through her work, there was a knock on the door.

"Aria!" Cymbeline exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile when she saw her old friend from the Constans household standing on the landing outside the door. "Come in!"

"Thank you," Aria smiled slightly and stepped inside.

Cymbeline left the door open, hoping to get some fresh air into the stuffy little apartment, and followed Aria to the table.

"One of the boys from the training ground brought me here when I asked after you," Aria said. "I don't remember his name… he had red hair, though."

"Tristan, probably," Cymbeline smiled.

"I think so," Aria grinned. "All of the boys there looked the same, though. His hair was the reddest though, I think."

"Tristan," Cymbeline nodded. "Out of all of his brothers, he's the only one with really red hair. A few of his sisters have it too, but he's the only one of the boys."

"How many of them are there?" Aria chuckled. "I swear I saw half a dozen of them in the training yard!"

"I think there are six of them training right now," Cymbeline laughed. "Normally there's a seventh, but she's gone north on an expedition with some of the others. Bors and Vanora have fifteen children, total, and Bors has one from his first marriage. Tristan is right around the middle of them, I think. The oldest is only a few years younger than me, and the youngest are two months old."

"Fifteen children?" Aria gaped. "I can't imagine having one!"

"Try having three at once," Cymbeline teased. "I don't recommend it."

"You have three children?" Aria asked softly.

Cymbeline nodded. "They're almost three. You can meet them, if you'd like."

"I would," Aria smiled. "But…"

"I'm guessing you have some questions?" Cymbeline stood and busied herself with the oatmeal. "Would you like to ask them over some food?"

"That sounds good," Aria smiled.

"Justinius isn't expecting you back, is he?" Cymbeline asked.

"I told him I wanted to explore the fort," Aria said. "He mocked me for a little while, telling me that there wouldn't be much to explore and that I wouldn't find anything of interest in such a primitive place, but I was so tired of being cooped up in that tiny room with him that I kept pushing until he let me leave."

Cymbeline nodded, keeping her back to Aria to hide her expression as she spooned some of the oatmeal into a pair of bowls. By the time she turned back to the table, she had schooled her face into a more neutral expression. "Help yourself to the fruit," she said, handing Aria a bowl and a spoon.

"Thank you," Aria smiled and accepted the food.

"So," Cymbeline settled herself back down on the bench. "What is your first question."

"Your voice!" Aria exclaimed. "You can speak? Why didn't you in Rome?"

Cymbeline looked down into her bowl and shrugged, stirring the unappetizing glob in it around. "At first, it was because I didn't really speak much Latin, when I was little. After that, there was no point. I was invisible most of the time, and I hoped that maybe one day I would become so invisible that I'd be able to slip away. And I felt like my voice was the only thing I had to myself; I shared everything either with Seia or the slaves, but I didn't have to share that. All that I had left of my family was our language, which I knew the Constans wouldn't let me speak, even if anyone had been able to understand me, so I just kept it all to myself."

Aria nodded, taking a bite of oatmeal and berries. "So, what is your real name? I doubt that it happens to be Claudia."

"Cymbeline," she grinned. "I'm named after my grandfather."

"Why?" Aria's brow furrowed.

"His brother, Caradoc, wanted the throne of our clan's lands," Cymbeline explained. "He came south and lied to Uther Castus, Arthur's father, and said that Cymbeline was planning to incite the Woads of the north into open rebellion against the Romans and lead an army south to attack them. Uther took his knights north to stamp out this false rebellion, and killed my grandfather and my father's older brother. Caradoc hounded my father and his younger brother for years after that, and my cousins and I were all born while our parents were on the run. In fact, the reason that I was so far south when the Romans found me was because Caradoc had sent a fresh wave of assassins after my father. He climbed the Wall to get away from them, but they caught him in the woods near the Constans' estate and killed him. He hid me in a hollow tree so they wouldn't found me. Caelus did when he was out hunting the next day, and he took me home. His wife wanted to throw me out when she realized I was a Woad, but Seia wanted to keep me for a friend, so they let me stay."

Aria nodded slowly. "Well, that answers a few of my other questions as well."

Cymbeline nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to find Rhience standing in the doorway of his room, clutching his favorite toy bear in one hand and sucking on the thumb of the other. His eyes were red and puffy, and she could still see tear stains on his face from earlier. "A ghrá!" she grinned. "Hello! Do you feel better?"

Rhience nodded slightly, eyes trained on Aria, who smiled and waved slightly at him. Keeping his eyes fixed on the stranger, Rhience toddled over to Cymbeline, who picked him up and put him on her lap.

"This is Rhience," she explained. "He's the youngest of the triplets. Rhience, this is Aria. She was my friend when I lived in Rome."

"Hello, Rhience," Aria smiled, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar name. "It is good to meet you."

"Can you say hello?" Cymbeline asked the toddler, bouncing him slightly on her knee, but got a shake of his head in return. "Okay," she sighed. "Are you hungry, a ghrá?" This time, she got a silent nod.

"I'll get it," Aria stood. "Oatmeal?"

"There's mashed apples in that bowl," Cymbeline pointed. "He likes those better."

Aria spooned some of the applesauce into a smaller bowl for the boy and brought it to the table with a spoon. "Here you go," she smiled at Rhience, who continued to stare at her with wide eyes.

"Thank you," Cymbeline grinned. "Can you say thank you, Rhi?" she was met with silence as Rhience stared down at his bowl.

"That's alright," Aria laughed. "You said he's the youngest? Where are the other two?"

"With my husband's mother," Cymbeline said. "Rhience was very unhappy this afternoon, so they sent for me—that's why I left the council earlier. Morgause and the others who help care for the children offered to watch Lot and Bella—the other two—so I could bring Rhience home and help him calm down and figure out what was wrong."

"Did you?" Aria asked. "Figure it out, that is."

"We didn't quite get that far," Cymbeline smiled down at Rhience again, watching him eat his applesauce. "He fell asleep, and then you came by. I am glad to see you, by the way. After I left Rome, I never thought I'd see you again."

"That was another of my questions," Aria said. "Why did you leave Rome? And why leave when you did?"

"I never wanted to leave Britain," Cymbeline said. "When Arthur and his knights escorted us to the port, I spent the trip in the sick-wagon with one of the knights, who'd been wounded on his way to the Constans' estate. At the end of the journey, I tried to convince him to let me stay with him, and he said he couldn't, but he promised to come and find me in Rome once he'd been freed from his service to Rome a year later. Well, a year later, all of the rumors said that Arthur and all of his knights had died fighting the Saxons. I thought that Gawain wasn't coming, so I decided to just come back on my own. Of course, Gawain actually did survive and came after me, but didn't get to Rome until after I'd gone."

"I remember that!" Aria exclaimed. "The knights coming, that is. I never did find out what they were looking for, though—at least until now!"

Cymbeline grinned. "They found me on the road back and brought me here. I found out that my cousins had already come to Camelot—I hadn't seen any of them since before my father and I came south. In fact, the youngest wasn't even born when we left, and the middle one was only a baby." A flash of pain crossed her face as she remembered Griflet, who had been killed by Morgana and Nimue's followers two years previous.

"Can I meet them?" Aria asked eagerly. "And your husband, and your other children?"

"Well, you can meet my children, but the others aren't here," Cymbeline said. "Gawain, my husband, and Bedivere, the oldest of my cousins, left on a mission for Arthur on the day you arrived, and Lucan, the youngest of my cousins, left to visit his father in the north two days later. Bedivere and Lucan's brother Griflet died two years ago." She purposefully left the details of the missions vague, in case Aria mentioned them to Justinius. She didn't think that the other girl was prying for information, but also didn't want to risk the girl mentioning anything that the Romans could use against Arthur in any way.

"What happened to him?" Aria asked. "Your cousin."

"Griff was killed by followers of Nimue," Cymbeline explained. "Two years ago, Nimue, her husband Ysbadaddon, and their ally Morgana tried to raise up the North against Arthur and destroy Camelot. We killed Ysbadaddon in one battle, but Nimue and Morgana came back to face us again. Griflet and Lucan had gone north with their father to retake our clan's seat from Caradoc, and he was bringing them back when Nimue's followers attacked them. They killed Griflet and nearly his father, along with the rest of their party. Lucan was injured as well, but not as badly."

"I'm sorry," Aria said softly.

Cymbeline smiled slightly. "I am too."

"You seem happy here," Aria said, looking at Rhience.

"I am," Cymbeline's smile broadened. They were silent for a moment, before Cymbeline continued: "Are you happy? In Rome, with Justinius?"

Aria froze, staring down into her now-empty bowl. "Yes."

"Really?" Cymbeline arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're happy as the consort of a Roman lordling?"

"Yes," Aria nodded, looking up, defiance etched onto her face.

"You know you'll never be anything more than that," Cymbeline said harshly. "You can't rise past that. Justinius can never marry you, even if he would, and chances are that he'll throw you out or sell you off once he does get married."

Aria shifted slightly. "I am happy," she insisted. "I never could have dreamed of rising this high. My greatest dream used to be marrying a farmer's boy." She laughed harshly.

"How is Gaius?" Cymbeline asked softly.

"He married a woman from his village," Aria said. "Lartia, I think she was called."

"I'm sorry," Cymbeline said.

"For what?" Aria shrugged. "Justinius is of higher status than Gaius. He has more power to his name than Gaius could ever dream of."

"Power isn't everything," Cymbeline said softly. "Love is much better. Justinius will never love you—Gaius could have."

"I am a slave," Aria snapped. "Gaius and I could never have married; he could never have bought me, and Caelus and Justinius would never have freed me."

Cymbeline was silent, simply watching the other woman intently, observing the storm of emotions crossing Aria's face. "You could fight for your freedom. Arthur would support you. He doesn't believe in slavery; it's outlawed here in Albion."

"There's nothing that a British king can do for me," Aria snapped, jumping to her feet. "There's nothing for me beyond Justinius, either."

"What about when he gets bored with you?" Cymbeline shot back. "When you get too old for his tastes? When he gets married? What about when he goes into one of his rages and tries to kill you—or even succeeds? What then?"

"Then I will go to where I am sent," Aria drew herself up. "I am a slave. I may wish that I wasn't, but I am. That is my fate. And if my fate leads to me dying at Justinius's hands, then so be it. At least in death I'd be free."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow, so, let's all just take a moment to admit that I definitely suck. It's been like 9 months since I updated this story, and I do apologize (to the 2 people following it, mainly). Admittedly, a good chunk of that time was because I was working 60+ hour weeks for an internship, and then my computer died, and when it came back, it decided it was no longer going to run Microsoft Word, and then the screen died, but for the solid past 4-5 months, I've just been hooking it up to my brother's TV and using GoogleDocs to work on everything BUT this story. So I suck. Anyways, here's another chapter. I refuse to make any promises towards another, or any new SWHH short stories, or anything else. But hopefully I'll at least finish this baby up before I vanish inexplicably again.**

 **Disclaimer: See ch.1.**

 **.*.*.*.*.*.**

The forest of Broceliande was timeless. At times, it would feel as though they had been walking for hours, but a look behind them would show some landmark they had passed just after beginning still visible. Other times, they seemed to have only walked for a short while, but had clearly covered a great deal of time.

The light in the forest was odd. Any light that managed to make it through the heavy canopy of leaves was dim and green-tinged, but seemed to be as bright in the morning as it was in the evening. When night fell, it fell almost instantly, and dawn came just as immediately. One moment, they could be walking in the dim viridescence that identified the day, and the next it would be pitch-black, so dark that they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces.

Even the air of Broceliande was strange. It was heavy and thick, almost cloyingly so, and was difficult to breathe. They had to move slowly and stop frequently, as trekking through the soupy air was exhausting.

"I hope we don't have to fight anything in here," Galahad gasped. He was sitting on a rock at the edge of the road, his back to a tree behind him, trying to catch his breath.

Gawain nodded wordlessly, opting to focus on breathing instead of talking. The atmosphere went beyond humid; half the time, it felt as though they were drowning on dry land. The sluggish air was still and warm, making them sleepy—any time they stopped to catch their breath, it was a struggle to stay awake. Almost worse, they were beginning to run out of water. Every time Gawain lifted his waterskin and felt how light it had become, Connor's warning not to eat or drink anything found in the forest rang in his ears. He wondered whether it was just superstition that had prompted the warning, or if the belief had a foundation in reality. It didn't matter; before too much longer, they'd have to either drink any water they found—not that they'd seen any streams or ponds so far—or face death by dehydration.

Once everyone was breathing normally again, Gawain had them up on their feet and on the move. He let Galahad and Bedivere take the lead, opting to fall back with Lancelot. The youngest knight tended to lag behind, and Gawain didn't like leaving him alone at the rear. Not only was the boy green, the forest seemed to be affecting him even more so than the other knights, for some reason. Menw also seemed greatly disrupted by the atmosphere, and Gawain kept a close eye on the seer.

"How much longer do you think we'll be in here?" Lancelot asked. The boy was sweating profusely and already gasping, even though they'd just started to move again.

"Don't think about it," Gawain said. "Anticipating it will only make it feel like it takes longer."

Lancelot let out a short, almost barking laugh. "I feel like most of your advice to me is generally 'don't think about it', in some form or another."

Gawain grinned and ruffled the boy's dark curls, thinking for a moment how much Lancelot was sometimes so much like his namesake. He was clever, when he wanted to be, and bitingly sarcastic. Sometimes Gawain wondered how much of the boy's personality came from Cymbeline and how much came from the knight he was named for, since he was so different from his parents and most of his siblings.

"Listen!" Dinadan gasped, stopping in the middle of the path so that Kei knocked into him.

"Watch what you're doing!" the Celt growled, taking a step back.

"Do you hear?" Dinadan asked.

The other knights came to a halt and began to listen.

"I don't hear anything," Lancelot frowned.

"Me either," Galahad said from the front.

"I hear… something," Menw murmured.

"Water," Gawain said.

"From where?" Lancelot glanced around. "I don't see any sign of it."

"It doesn't matter," Menw said abruptly. "Remember what Connor said? 'Don't eat or drink anything you find in the forest'. I'd say that water is probably on the list of things we shouldn't drink."

"That boy was a superstitious fool," Kei sniffed.

"All superstitions come from somewhere," Menw argued. "Most have some foundation in truth. Something tells me that we should listen to him."

Kei rolled his eyes. "Did you see that in a vision?"

"We don't have a choice," Dinadan said. "We're almost out of water. If we don't find something to drink soon, we'll die of thirst before we come close to finding Morgana."

"We can't even see where the sound is coming from," Menw remained resolute. "We might have to leave the path to get to it. Remember what Connor said about that? He said that those who leave the path in Broceliande never find it again."

"Didn't we just establish that we weren't going to listen to the superstitions of the natives?" Kei glared.

"No, you established that," Menw retorted. "No-one else agreed with you."

"Dinadan is right," Gawain interrupted. "We need water. But I agree that it would be a bad idea to leave the path; it's easy to lose your way in any forest, and I don't want to risk getting lost here. We'll stay on the path for now. If we see the source of the water from the road, we'll go to it, but otherwise, we stay on the path."

Apparently satisfied at the compromise, the knights began to move again. The sound of running water never seemed to grow closer, but it also never got farther away. When night fell, as abruptly as it had every night since they entered the forest, they settled down right where they were in the road to sleep.

Oddly enough, when they woke in the morning, the water sounded much closer than it had the night before, as though they were almost on top of it. However, since they couldn't see the source of the sound, Gawain kept them moving forward.

This time, the water grew louder and louder as they walked, until it was drowning out every other sound—not that there were many of those; they had seen little to no wildlife in the forest since they entered it.

"There!" Dinadan shouted, pointing ahead. Sure enough, a stream cut directly through the path ahead of them, the clear blue water bubbling and swirling as it rushed on its way.

"And now we are faced with a dilemma," Menw murmured.

Gawain ignored the seer, hurrying to the front of the party, beside Dinadan, who was already beginning to reach his empty waterskin down into the stream. "Wait," the knight caught the bard's arm. "Maybe we should listen to Connor. Menw's right; superstitions usually come from somewhere. This water could be poisonous."

"There's only one way to find out," Dinadan pulled away from Gawain and, before anyone could stop him again, cupped his hand to fill it with water, brought it to his mouth, and drank.

They all froze for a moment, watching with bated breath to see if anything would happen.

Dinadan stood and grinned triumphantly. "See? I'm…" his voice trailed off as his eyes rolled back into his head and he began to fall backwards towards the stream.

Gawain made a grab for the falling body of the bard, barely managing to catch hold of his hand. Kei let out a yell and leapt forward, grabbing Dinadan's other arm, and together they pulled him forward and laid him out on the road.

"Dinadan?" Bedivere pushed Kei away and knelt by Dinadan's head. "Dinadan, wake up!" he patted the man's cheek sharply with one hand, even as he began to dig around in one of his pouches with the other, finally producing a tiny glass vial, which he uncorked and waved under Dinadan's nose. "Nothing," the healer said grimly, sitting back on his heels.

"Is he alive?" Gawain demanded.

"He seems perfectly fine," Bedivere shrugged. "Except for the fact that he won't wake up."

"Now what?" Kei asked, glowering into the forest.

"Look!" Lancelot gasped. The other knights followed his pointing finger to where the path resumed on the other side of the stream. There, they saw the shadowy figure of a pure-white stag, staring at them with wide eyes.

"That's the first living thing we've seen since we got here," Kei said in a low voice.

"It wants us to follow it," Lancelot murmured. He stepped forward, looking dazed, brushing past Galahad and Menw as he made for the stag.

"Lancelot!" Gawain grabbed at the boy's leg as he passed, but missed and scrambled to his feet. Galahad was on his heels and they both managed to catch hold of the teenager as he raised one foot to step into the stream. When they looked across, the deer was gone.

"What is going on here?" Galahad asked, staring at his friend.

"I don't know," Gawain said, hauling Lancelot firmly onto dry land, "but I don't like it."

.*.*.*.*.*.

Even though it seemed like they had just started for the day, Gawain called their march, and they settled in, making Dinadan as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. After Lancelot tried to slip away, heading again for the path across the stream where they had seen the white stag, Gawain sat him down firmly and tied his hands behind his back.

"Is that really necessary?" Menw lifted an eyebrow as he watched Gawain bind Lancelot.

"I don't want him drowning himself, or getting poisoned by that water, or wandering off," Gawain said firmly. "We need to sit down and think about this before we make our next move."

"Well, I for one don't think we have many choices," Menw said. "We can either go across the river and follow Lancelot's stag, or go back. We've established already that we don't want to leave the path, and it doesn't turn or branch off."

"I don't think it's wise to just cross the river," Bedivere said. "A single sip has done who knows what to Dinadan, and we have no way of knowing what sort of toxin is in the water. It could be something that will infect us simply through contact."

"Are there a lot of things that could do that?" Gawain asked.

"A few," Bedivere shrugged. "And I don't have antidotes to all of them-and the antidotes I've tried on Dinadan haven't worked anyways, so that narrows it down."

"Kei, you've been uncharacteristically silent," Gawain turned his attention to the Celt. "What are your thoughts on the situation?"

Kei stared thoughtfully at the ground in front of him. "In every legend I've ever heard, the white stag is a symbol."

"I thought you didn't believe in symbols in fairy-tales?" Galahad teased.

"I don't, normally," Kei sniffed. "But this isn't a normal place. Anyways, in every story I've ever heard, the hero follows the white stag, and it leads him to something that will help him on his quest. Everyone knows that the white deer is a messenger from the gods-don't need a bard to tell you that one. Even Lancelot said that it wanted him to follow it, right boy?"

Lancelot nodded eagerly.

"Well, this is a surprising turn of events," Galahad mumbled.

"The fact remains," Gawain said, "that we have no way to cross the river. I agree with Bedivere that it seems unwise to even touch the water without knowing what is wrong with it."

"What about making some sort of bridge?" Menw suggested. "We are, after all, surrounded by trees."

"But remember what Connor said about the trees?" Bedivere piped up. "Even if you won't be cursed for cutting them down, he said that they're nearly impossible to damage. I doubt we have the tools to even hack off branches to build a bridge."

"We could look for a ford," Galahad suggested.

"I still don't like the idea of leaving the path," Gawain shook his head.

"If we follow the stream, I don't think we'd get lost," Menw said.

"Look at the banks," Gawain pointed. "The forest goes right up to the edge of the stream. And it's just as dense as it is everywhere else. If we lost sight of the stream and got turned around, we could be lost ourselves."

"Let's sleep on it," Menw suggested. "Maybe one of us will have a brilliant idea in the night, and we can cross tomorrow. It looks like it's starting to get dark anyways."

"I want to set a watch tonight," Gawain said. They hadn't bothered to do so the past few nights, as the forest was so still that the slightest sound would easily have woken them, but he had an odd feeling tonight. "Someone to watch for any change in Dinadan, and to make sure Lancelot doesn't wander off and hurt himself."

.*.*.*.*.*.

In the morning, Gawain woke and stretched with a yawn. He glanced around and sighed. Dinadan was still unconscious, and Lancelot, already awake, was still staring wistfully across the stream.

"Well, did anyone have any brilliant ideas in the middle of the night?" Menw yawned, stretching out a crick in his neck.

"Well, I'm not sure it's a brilliant idea, but…" Bedivere stared down at the water rushing past his feet. "Did anyone notice these stones yesterday? They're just above the water, and the perfect size and distance apart to walk across."

"How did we not see those?" Galahad marvelled, coming to stand beside Bedivere.

"It looks like we've found our bridge," Gawain said, hauling Lancelot to his feet. "Now we just have to figure out how to get Dinadan across."

In the end, Gawain and Kei lifted Dinadan between them and made their way across the slick stepping stones with great care. Lancelot was released and followed, Bedivere on his heels, with Menw and Galahad bringing up the rear.

"There!" Lancelot cried feverishly, pointing off down the path.

The other knights looked and, sure enough, found the white stag waiting patiently off in the distance. Lancelot rushed towards it, stumbling almost drunkenly along the path, Galahad and Bedivere not far behind him. Menw trailed along after them. Gawain and Kei traded glances, then hefted Dinadan between them and set off after the stag and their friends.


End file.
